


Gift of the Gods

by Magnus_McKay



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Angst, Character Death, Characters as Greek Gods, Comfort, Demigods, F/F, F/M, Holmescest (implied), Love, M/M, Magic, Sexual Content, Shapeshifting, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 58,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnus_McKay/pseuds/Magnus_McKay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock (a Demigod) lives a peaceful life in his woodland realm, happy and content to be alone until a human stumbles into the path of the Demigod. With a mission to save the world from impending doom at the hands of one single lesser God determined to connect the mortal realm and the Heavens together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say 'I am sorry' in advance of any reading. Mostly for the length of the chapters. But this is a LONG fanfic and it has many twists and turns, so please try to stick with it! I've had this sitting around for over a year, waiting for it to see the light of day, so I really hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> As for this chapter... here within, Sherlock and John meet for the first time.

Dirty, cold and starving to the point of delirium, John walked through the dense forest with an arrow notched in his bow, his hunters eyes wide to the verdant green world around him lest any prey were to stumble onto the path he was taking. Not that prey had been easy to find in the forest in the first place.

This was getting harder, walking around in search of any small morsel of food that could prolong his life until he found the edge of this den of confusion and found civilization once more. He was already weakened by a rash on his legs from poison Ivy leaves, his feet were sore and he was desperately in need of sleep, too scared to down his bow and rest for the night lest wolves attack him while he slumbered. His hunger was definitely the least of his problems.

John had been lost for days, perhaps even weeks, he couldn’t be sure any more. All time seemed to meld into one long day in here, filled with dappled sunlight that was too hot and then bitter cold as night fell. It was too confusing, his head aching and his muscles weak from his constant roaming of the land, he couldn’t work out a straight path. 

Even if he did have the good luck of prey crossing his tracks, he would have scared it away with the racket his stumbling through the rough undergrowth on legs that could barely carry his weight.

The path he had been following was obviously one followed by the many creatures of the forest - a clear pathway of clear ground made as they tramped their way through it - as he soon came across a stream, clear as a bell and deliciously cool from its trip through the mountains. A welcoming sight to a weary traveller for sure. Falling to his knees, John began to drink deeply from the cool waters, gulping it down greedily in the hopes it would abate his hunger, if only a little. 

A snap of twigs from the undergrowth on the opposite bank got his attention, the sound of several young saplings breaking, then another of leaves rustling. Slowly, John looked up and held back his gasp at the sight before him.

A silver pelted stag - proud, beautiful and strong - stood not far from John on the opposite bank of the stream, its velvety ear flicking softly as it stared at John. But this was no ordinary stag. This was the form of a Demigod none knew the name of and he was watching John carefully with deep grey eyes. 

John had picked up his bow and notched an arrow, ready to fell the beast and have his first meal in Gods knew how long. He could eat for a week with a kill like this and his silvery coat would make a fare amount of money. For the longest of moments, he held his position looking eye to eye with the creature, the both of them deathly still.

The Demigod was curious to see if the human would let the arrow fly and pierce his flank. After all, humans were all the same. Greedy and noxious beings, eager to kill but not eager to make use of their kill, seeing their slaughter as sport rather than for survival. It was clear to see by the horns they drank from, the pelts they wore and the meat of the beasts they had felled being left to rot and decay, that these humans did not understand the delicate balance of life and death.

This human was weak though and the longer the arrow was notched, the longer its arms shook with the effort of holding it in place. John let out a breath and he froze as the stag looked him right in the eye. Without thinking on it, John felt the compulsion to lower his bow and bow his head to the beautiful creature. 

Of course, the Demigod found this curious and shook his head in confusion. Why hadn’t the human struck yet? Then as the tip of the arrow was lowered to the ground and the tension in the bow eased, he realised. This human meant to let himself die rather than kill or injure the creature before him. How very curious.

Lifting his head up, John smiled faintly at the creature, his head swimming for a second before the light died in his eyes and he fell forward unconscious into the stream. The Demigod was by his side in a moment, shifting to his human form to pluck the human from the water before he drowned. He was weak and didn’t stir when the Demigod lifted him up and hurried him to his own camp, not far from the babbling waters.

Laying the man down on a bed of soft and sweet smelling grasses, the Demigod treated to the human’s injuries and left him to rest with an offering of fruit and bread by his side to be drunk with fresh spring water at hand when he woke.

Had John been at home, the softness of his breath and the chill of his skin would have been taken as a bad sign. There would have been prayers to the Gods over his limp and lifeless body to ease his passing or to heal his wounds. But here, there was just silence and nimble hands working on him, bringing him back from the brink of death.

It was a whole passing of a day - moon and sun - before John began to move his heavy limbs, his eyes fluttering and his parched lips parting as he tried to call desperately for his mother. It was complete folly as his mother had passed to the Underworld many moons ago. Such was his need for comfort, John called for her all the same even though she would never hear his calls.

Keen and pale eyes turned to the human resting on the grass and his rescuer rose to his feet nimbly, wetting a cloth and laying it against the hunters fevered brow. It was only fair that his wounds be treated, a life for a life after all. Once the human was well, he would be once more on his way and the forest would be peaceful again. 

Letting out a breath, John’s fluttering eyes opened properly on his second attempt only to flutter half closed from the effort of it. Cloudy and hazy vision plagued him, still thick with his slumber that glued the soft lashes together. His eyes were covered by a thin film as fever cursed him to double vision and poor judgement on his part.

“Mother…” he breathed, not really able to focus on the person over him, tending to his fever.

Tears rolled down John’s cheeks, making soft splashing noises as they landed on the leaves below him. Had he died? Was this the Underworld? His only thoughts were that he would be reunited with his loved ones if he were dead.

A cool damp cloth was pressed to John’s lips, water gently squeezed from it to drip into his mouth, encouraging him to drink and wetting his cracking lips.

“No, I am not your mother,” spoke a seemingly distant voice, “Drink.”

The man treating him, his voice tone was deep and smooth as if it were made of honey, like the sound of a rushing river, the wind in the mountains, cold but not made of ice. A voice that was soothing and calming to the crying human. Calming enough for the tears to stem and stop.

Licking his damp lips and drinking the water dripping from the cloth, John felt himself revive. His vision was beginning to clear now and the sounds of the world weren’t as distant to his ear, weren’t as muffled.

“Where am I?” he whispered, looking up into the eyes of the man who had undoubtedly saved his life.

“You are safe and I think that is quite enough to be going on with for the moment.” the man replied, pulling the cloth from John’s lips to soak it again.

John studied the face above him, keen pale eyes blinking down at him, rich dark hair in soft curls over his pale skin. He was in a word, beautiful. The complete opposite of John who was golden haired and skinned, his eyes as deep blue as the ocean.

While John studied him, he drank a little more from the cloth and sighed as his head was rested back on the soft grass. Lifting his hand weakly, he wiped the droplets of water still clinging to his top lip and to the short wiry bristles of hair that had grown over his jaw and lip in the days he’d been lost. Feeling strength return to his body, he fixed the man with his dark eyes. 

“Thank you, saviour. What is your name?” he asked, rolling his head from side to side.

“Sherlock.” John’s saviour replied, turning the cloth on his brow to press the cool side to his skin.

“My… my name is John,” John breathed, smiling weakly, “I owe you my life, friend. I thought I was alone out here.”

“I have lived in the forest for many years.” Sherlock said, moving back to rest down on his heels.

The tunic that Sherlock wore was of simple white and hung at knee length, however it remained elegant on his willowy form. His feet remained bare, but there was no sign of wear on their soft and supple skin.

“Mmm, and I could not survive three weeks lost in it.” John sighed, closing his eyes.

John chuckled to himself as he scratched at the irritating ivy rash that had weakened him days ago, grunting in discomfort as it prickled. Batting his hand away, Sherlock replaced the poultice he’d been applying to the rash with a soft snort of impatience at the idiot human’s actions.

“Leave it alone.” Sherlock said, his tone gently chiding as if talking to a child.

“Apologies.” John whispered, smiling gently again and shivering in his own tattered and worn tunic.

All of John’s items were as weatherworn as he was, his bow badly warped and his quiver had been repaired several times. His tunic had once been a fine thing, but its colour had faded long ago and as a poor man, he had much better things to spend his money on than clothes. Like food.

Sitting back again as he finished his work, Sherlock’s pale eyes found John’s dark ones once more, almost looking into the depths of John’s soul, as if he were searching it for something that would answer the many questions he had about this human.

“You were starving when I found you. I have brought you food and you are welcome to eat your fill.” he said softly.

Once this human, this John person, was well enough to continue his travels, Sherlock could leave him again and continue his peaceful, solitary life. It was no concern of his whether the forest proved difficult for the mortal after that.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” John sighed with a smile, “Do you know the way to the edge of the forest? I am lost here. It is like the forest changes every day and it is impossible to leave.”

Closing his eyes, John tried to sit up properly and winced with pain as older injuries over his body - at his shoulder and leg - began to play up when he began to shudder with cold. His struggles were met by Sherlock’s firm hand pushing him back down to the grasses to keep him comfortable.

“Why did you come here?” Sherlock asked, tilting his head.

“I will not lie to you,” John whispered, looking away from Sherlock, “I am not a rich man. Food is hard enough to come by in the city for the poor. At least out here I could stand a better chance.”

“You are a doctor, are you not? Can you not find work in your trade?” Sherlock asked, keen eyes glancing over John.

“How do you know I am a doctor,” John whispered, shocked for a second before closing his eyes and chewing on his lip, “There is no call for my work, not for a man who is disgraced. I returned from war with wounds that should have killed me. I lost my honour by not dying a warriors death.”

“There is no honour in death,” Sherlock snorted, wrinkling his nose, “You live and you are strong, and noble. There is honour enough in that.” 

The way Sherlock spoke, it was as if all this were a fact, not to appease or to praise John’s actions, more with disgust toward the people that would treat a man this way. It was passionate, the way he spoke and John looked at Sherlock with slightly wide eyes, finding himself hanging on every word. He had never met a man such as this. Passionate and strong willed, not ruled by the many and the words they spoke. He was a complete individual, so rare to find these days.

“The Gods left my side. I hoped I would find them here to guide me back to an honourable life. Look where they have left me. I do not even think they are real… I believe we are alone on this earth.” John said, his eyes out of focus.

Sherlock’s bright eyes flicked back up to the other man, his face carefully arranged and guarded for the moment. He wondered how well John would take it if he revealed his identity, his true form. Everything pointed to not well.

“You cannot look to the Gods to guide you through the entirety of your life, John. It is neither their whim, nor their responsibility to guide every mortal. You must live your own life, regardless of how they… interfere.” Sherlock said, the last word spoken with a growl and a sniff of disdain.

“I have felt this way all my life. Born under a bad star perhaps. If the Gods are in their heaven interfering in all, then why has so much misfortune befallen my family when all we were was faithful to them? The prayers I have wasted my life on… I am a good person. My family are… were… good people.” John replied, his faith gone completely.

“Being a good person is not always enough. The Gods…” Sherlock wrinkled his nose as he mentioned them again, “…have many things to oversee. The sun, the moon, the stars, the crops, the water, the rain. You cannot rely on them to help you… but that does not mean they do not exist.”

“I wish I could believe in them,” John whispered, closing his eyes and swallowing as he rested his hand on Sherlock’s arm, “I just believe in human nature. You have restored a little of that in me.”

“You need food and rest, yes?” Sherlock whispered, looking down at the hand on his arm and putting soft fingers over John’s.

“Yes, thank you again.”

Sherlock nodded his head graciously at the thanks and moved away to settle beside the fire, poking it back to life as the sun began to burst in bright colour over the horizon, staining the sky in bright pinks and purples lined with gold. The great God Apollo was putting on a wonderful show this evening.

Smiling softly at Sherlock, John managed to sit up and began to pick weakly at the fruit and bread that had been laid out for him, eating the meal slowly and savouring every bite as only a starved man could. Once full, he rested back against a tree and hummed gently to himself, singing after a few moments in a soft voice. 

The song was one his mother would sing to him when he was sick, of the myth of Apollo the great sun God and his son who rode his chariot and died. It was full of sorrow, but the way John sang made the sorrow sound that little bit harsher. It would have made many men weep with its hopelessness.

For a time, Sherlock listened to John’s song and hummed along softly to himself while he looked into the fire, stoking it when the flames threatened to die. When John had finished his song, pale eyes turned back to the human and settled lightly on him.

“Your family prays to the sun God then?” 

“My father did,” John confirmed, nodding his head, “We once owned a great orchard… but Apollo turned his back on us and we continued to have poor harvests. It ruined my fathers life. We found him dead in the orchard… a knife piercing his heart.” John whispered, looking back at Sherlock.

A rolling shiver ran down John’s spine and he hugged himself, moving closer to the heat of the fire. Sherlock brought him a blanket and wound it round his shoulders to help warm the man through.

“You must not blame the Gods for every ill that has befallen you.” Sherlock said softly.

“Poseidon took my wife and child,” John replied, deeply sad eyes on the fire, “I stayed by the beach for weeks, praying for them to be returned to me. Their bodies washed up on the shore. The Gods could have saved them, should have saved them. My beautiful son… gone forever because of their spiteful ways.”

Sherlock lowered his eyes, closed them for a moment, the only sound in the clearing the crackle of the fire licking at still green wood making it pop and whine as it burnt. John was no different to other mortals, in the end. Tragic, his life was, but there was still that raw bitterness that had driven Sherlock away from the cities of the mortals in the first place. Sighing, he drew back to the other side of the fire, his eyes on the flames.

“I have not seen such beauty since he died. Then… I came here. There was a stag. So pure, so beautiful… I could not kill it. For the first time in many years, it brought joy to my heart.” John sighed, smiling a bit and pulling the blanket closer.

Looking up and across at the mortal, Sherlock had questions he desperately wanted answering, confused by this one and the nobility he had hidden within.

“Why? Why could you not kill it? You were hungry, dying… why choose to give up your own life?”

“Such a thing of beauty should never be taken from this world,” John replied simply, shrugging and pulling a face, “For a single moment… I believed my son was watching over me, his beauty shining down on me in my last moments.”

Smiling faintly as he picked up a stick, John began to draw gentle swirls in the ash of the fire until it created the image of a big stag on the ground. Sherlock looked into the crackling fire as twilight descended around them, glancing down at the stag in the ashes.

“And still it did not restore your faith, to be saved at the last moment of your life.” Sherlock said gently.

“No. Too much has happened… unless I see them with my own eyes, hear their voice with my own ears then I refuse to believe in them,” John sighed, looking into the fire himself, “Are you not lonely out here?”

“I lived among the people… once. Long ago. I find solitude fits me better. People are… bitter, jaded, selfish… corrupt.”

“Yes, I suppose they are. It is a reason I left to seek my fortune here. No one to shun me out here.”

“Have you not thought of travelling elsewhere? Athens? Perhaps they would not shun you there. I hear, as of late, they are growing progressive. That they hardly pray to the Goddess at all anymore.”

“I suppose,” John said, blinking a little bit, then shaking his head and rubbing his brow, “But I would be little better than a street beggar if I turned up there.”

“You have the healing touch, John. I can see it in you. Whether you believe in the Gods or not, they have blessed you. You will find a way.” Sherlock replied, tipping his head on its side.

“You have faith in me. Why?” John asked, looking Sherlock right in the eye.

Sherlock’s pale blue gaze made John completely relax, a serene feeling washing over him as his muscles eased up and the tension seeped out of him. Sherlock just gave him a small, noncommittal shrug. 

“I see you. That is all. And I see no reason for your despair.” Sherlock said softly.

“It is less despair. More loneliness… I hate being alone.” John breathed, shivering and hanging his head.

Sherlock felt the nudging influence of his half-brother in his mind and he snorted, rolling his eyes upward. Stupid Mycroft. There was no reason that he should travel to Athens. True that the people were turning away from their Mother’s faith, but it was distinctly not his wish to meddle in human affairs, even if he had meddled in this particular humans affairs.

“I must sleep. I am weak and I must be boring you with my tales.” John whispered, bowing his head to Sherlock.

Moving back to the bed of grass and curling up, John relaxed. For a moment, he was quiet and he closed his eyes. The stupid thing was, even with his lack of faith, he still prayed to the Gods. It was a habit, he supposed. 

“Gods watch over me.”

Getting comfortable under the blanket, John held the amber pendent he wore round his neck on a thin leather thong in the palm of his hand, pressing it over the skin above his heart as he fell asleep, just as he did every night. John was breathing a little harshly, the fever still affecting him badly as he drifted to sleep, but slumber brought a little easement to it.

Sherlock watched, curious about the human and his actions. He waited until John was asleep to try and catch a glimpse of the pendent he wore. Sherlock’s own long and elegant fingers strayed to the pendant he kept tucked in the pouch at his side, a shard of white quartz in the shape of a half moon that he’d had since before he could remember, and no doubt before that.

Slowly John’s tanned fingers uncurled from round the amber pendant, the sun shaped stone glinted in the light from the fire, making it look as if it were blazing brightly in John’s palm, as if its own internal flame made the thing glow. 

Flushing, two fingers drifted over the brilliant sun amulet, Sherlock’s breath catching and his mind spiralling at the prospects. Still, there was no time at the present to think on what that could mean. He was too busy looking after John for a start, the mortal was still feverish and sickly looking. He dampened the cloth once more and laid it over John’s sweaty brow, chiding himself for not making the weakened human eat more.

Letting out little whimpers as he slumbered, John’s dreams as ever were odd, confusing, troubling and left him with more questions than answers. It was always the same, flame, heat and bright sunlight, fire coursing through his body before he fell into a deep sleep and the dreams faded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here within, Sherlock and John part ways, there's some business with some bandits and the road to Athens never seems so lonely.

All the way through the night, Sherlock tended to John as he slept fitfully, replacing the poultice on the ivy rash and pressing the cool cloth to John’s head. It wasn’t until the sun was thinking of rising above the horizon to bathe the forest in its first light that the Demigod finally succumbed to sleep, clutching his amulet close to his lips. He hadn’t done that since he had been a young boy, but it brought him a little comfort after the busy night he’d had and the mild shock of finding John’s pendant.

John slept most of the day, not even noticing that the sun had risen. His body was healing fast with the aid of Sherlock’s poultice and his own natural healing ability, the skin beginning to fade back to normal. 

When he eventually did wake, the dew on the grass had dried and the sun was high in the sky, bouncing from his blonde soft hair, making it gleam and shine like spun gold as he moved to warm himself by the heat of the fire.

Sherlock had already been awake for a while, tending the embers into a fire once more. He watched as John rose, watching how the sunlight seemed to caress him and make him shine so bright.

“I need to gather some things for a new poultice. Stay here.” Sherlock said, getting to his feet.

Shaking his head, John pulled the poultice away from the skin which had already healed over beautifully, as if there had never been the angry red rash there in the first place. Throwing the poultice back to Sherlock, he stretched out after his long slumber.

“It is fine. I am a fast healer. I always have been.” John shrugged, smiling a little and tucking his pendent away under his tattered tunic.

Looking at the skin and reaching out to run his hand over where the rash had been, Sherlock slowly brought his gaze up to John’s eyes, surprise in them at the speediness of the mortals recovery.

“Be that as it may, you are still recovering from fever. It will not take me long.” Sherlock replied.

Rising to his feet, he brushed his tunic down and moved off to enter the forest. John followed, his strength returned as he caught up and caught hold of Sherlock’s wrist before he could disappear off.

“Trust me, I am fine. I know my body well enough to know I am healed and that I am sure to have outstayed my welcome.” John said softly, smiling.

Looking down at the hand around his wrist, then back up to John’s warm and friendly eyes, Sherlock nodded slowly and gave a soft little smile.

“As you wish.”

“I must thank you. You saved my life. I think I might go to Athens… if I sell this old thing I might be able to afford somewhere to live.” John sighed, fishing the pendant out and looking down at it almost glowing in the glorious sunlight.

“Do not.”

Sherlock had blurted the words out before he could stop himself and he squirmed a little in John’s quizzical gaze. Sighing, Sherlock looked back into John’s eyes and shaking his head a little.

“Do not sell it.” he said firmly.

“Why not? It is just a silly old charm… my father gave it to me when I was ten. Said it would bring me luck. It never has.” John sighed, shrugging.

“It is a blessing… it is protection. Do not sell it.” 

“Is that what it is,” John smiled, lifting it over his head and pressing it into Sherlock’s palm, “Then I would rather you have it. A thank you for saving my life.”

Wide eyed, Sherlock shook his head fiercely and refused the gift, pushing it back into John’s hand, even taking a step back to avoid it being pushed back into his hand by the insistent mortal.

“No, no, no. I cannot take this.” he said.

They were even, a life for a life, John owed him nothing at all and Sherlock wouldn’t be left in his debt, even if the human didn’t know it. Stepping back again, Sherlock shook his head. John let out a breath and just nodded, putting the amulet back round his neck, his fingers brushing over it for a second before tucking it away under his tunic. Looking back up at Sherlock, he smiled warmly.

“Very well. Please, do stay safe. Perhaps we will meet in a second life.” John smiled, gripping Sherlock’s forearm as a sign of friendship.

Gripping John’s arm back, Sherlock swallowed thickly and nodded rather gracefully, forcing his face to remain neutral. This human was so different, it was sad that he had to leave so soon after meeting him, he would have liked to have got to know him better.

“The forest ends back to the west. A days worth of travel should find you on the road.” Sherlock advised.

Resting his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder in a warm, friendly way, John bowed his head to him for a long moment, feeling it was the right thing to do. Shouldering his quiver, he hefted his pack onto his back and scooped up his bow to carry it by his side. 

Before he left, he turned back to look at Sherlock and smiled brightly at him one last time. He’d enjoyed his company greatly and had found an odd kinship with the strange forest man.

“Goodbye, dear friend.” he said softly.

Sherlock watched John stride off until he could no longer see the glint of sunlight on golden hair through the vibrant greens of the forest.

“Goodbye… John.” he whispered, shoulders falling.

This wouldn’t be the end of their tale together of course and the day would find the silver stag following the would be hunter in the forest, always just out of John’s sight. Sherlock remained beside him, a constant companion offering him protection even though the mortal didn’t know it as he made steady progress towards the road. 

John’s good mood didn’t last very long at all, it evaporated as he left the edge of the forest and the home of his new - and perhaps only - friend. Sighing, he began to plot his way to Athens, pushing forward even though he could do with a rest. 

The road ran parallel with the forest for the next day or so, giving Sherlock the chance to follow John in his stag form, John getting flashes of silver in the corner of his vision, winding through the trees. Every time he turned his head, even slightly, he would find that nothing was there when he tried to seek it out. It was odd though. Even though he knew that he was being followed by something, or someone, it didn’t feel malevolent to John. It felt almost friendly, if that was possible.

It was as night fell that John finally fell to his knees, completely exhausted as he lay in a low ditch by the side of the road, sleeping in a curled up ball. He was too tired to even light a fire tonight, his own body heat keeping him warm.

Hiding himself in the tree line, Sherlock didn’t risk sleeping at all, knowing that he would have to say goodbye to John by the time the sun was past its zenith tomorrow. He wanted to take in as much of the mortal man as he possibly could before the two of them truly had to part ways.

The road may have been easier to travel on, but it came with many dangers and especially at night. There were wolves in the forest that would often stray onto the road if their food source became low, but that was more likely to be during the winter. A traveller could be trampled by horses or a chariot, especially when resting by the road with no fire as John was. But the worst of all were that there were bandits in these parts, ready to snatch up unsuspecting travellers and take them to slavers waiting on the edge of the larger towns and cities to be sold for great amounts of money. 

Unknown to the sleeping John, such a band of disreputable men approached him from the south side of the road, blades glinting in the moonlight as they crept up on the sleeping figure in the ditch. They were ready to snatch the sleeping traveller and strip him of his goods, perhaps make a little money out of him by selling him to slavers at the gates of Athens. Everyone needed slaves these days.

What these men were not expecting was for a silver stag to burst from the cover of the forest, shaking its great white antlers, snorting and pawing the ground in his anger. He stepped closer to John, indicating that he would take no violence toward the man who lay at his feet, that he would be protected.

The bandits just smirked behind their masks and drew bows, each of them thinking how much the pelt of the silver stag would make in the richer districts of Athens. With a cry, they loosed their arrows at both John’s woodland protector and John himself, who woke immediately. 

Soon, his own arrows were flying back through the night, aiming to injure rather than to kill. The bandits scattered as best they could with their many various injuries, still firing arrows in the direction of John and the stag. John yelled after them, dodging arrows when a very human yell from behind him made him jump in shock. 

Once the bandits had scattered and fled from the road, John turned in search of the silver stag that had protected him through the attack. Sherlock was half shifted in his shock, an arrow piercing his breast and a wave of red flooding down his chest. He had stumbled backward, a hand at his heart as he had fallen, his antlers digging into the roadside as he bucked his head. His vision was beginning to narrow already, blackness rolling uncomfortably through his entire body. His cloven feet, only half changed, were kicking out in pain, desperately trying to hold onto the thread of consciousness.

John was completely shocked by the sight of Sherlock with great white antlers and silver pelt still down his legs that ended in hooves, his eyes wide as he looked at his dear friend who was still half stag. He let out a breath of shock, trying desperately to comprehend what he was seeing but coming up a blank.

“By the Gods…” John breathed, trembling as he looked Sherlock over.

There was no time for this, hanging about trying to understand the completely mind bending sight before him. Sherlock was bleeding heavily, in pain and close to death with the arrow still buried deep in the flesh of his shoulder.

“Sherlock, I am here. My dear friend, hold on for me… you have much explaining to do.” John breathed.

Jumping up, John hastily lit a fire to work by and emptied out his pack on the ground, picking up his sharp hunting knife and looking back at Sherlock. The Demigod groaned, gritting his teeth through the rolls of pain that coursed through him, a light sweat breaking out on his brow. There was no better place to be than by the side of a healer.

John worked fast, the sharp blade easily cutting the shaft of the arrow shorter to ease the pain of it moving as he worked on cutting the metal head out of Sherlock’s soft flesh. Sherlock whimpered as John cut into his skin, crying out in agony as John pulled the flared arrowhead free of his shoulder, immediately packing the wound and holding his hand tight to Sherlock’s shoulder to stem the bleeding.

Covered in dirt and blood, John felt completely exhausted, closing his eyes as he held his now completely human companion close to his chest to protect him. He hoped to warm him this way, to keep shock at bay as he rocked Sherlock, gently weeping over him and humming as best he could through his tears to sooth. 

So strong was his grief over what had happened, John didn’t feel the blood stop flowing between his fingers or the skin begin to knit slowly back together under his palm, forcing away the packing from the wound. 

“You should never have followed, Sherlock…” John whispered, looking at Sherlock pale face in the light of the fire.

The man’s skin was far too pale and John’s stomach knotted as dread set in. The dread that Sherlock would be someone else in John’s life that was going to die. Sherlock groaned softly, his eyebrows knitting together as he looked up at John.

“I… I wanted to be sure you were safe…” Sherlock whispered.

Shaking his head, John held Sherlock’s shoulder tighter, his goodness and pureness of heart healing the wound under his tanned hand. As Sherlock had said, he was a healer and right now, he was putting it to good use.

“You should have taken the pendant, Sherlock. You should have been protected. I am the reason you are injured.” John replied, shaking his head.

Opening his eyes, Sherlock gazed up lazily at the other man and a soft little smile curled at the corners of his lips as he watched the man.

“I am protected, John. I… I am fine.”

John looked down at Sherlock and frowned in confusion, shocked by his sudden strength and lucidity considering that he had been at deaths door only a few moments before. Lifting his hand, Sherlock brushed his fingertips over John’s cheek before he withdrew them again, the bright gleam in his eyes again.

“I am glad you are safe.” he breathed.

“D-do not move your arm… its…”

It was healed. Pulling his hand away, John blinking and frowned at the perfectly healed skin beneath his palm. The wound had gone, simply faded away. Had he done that? Gasping rather loudly, John clapped his hand over his mouth in complete awe. Frowning, Sherlock reached up and touched the skin of his shoulder, looking down at it before snapping his eyes back up to John. Between his own natural healing and John’s wonderful gift, the wound had healed in minutes rather than days.

“It is fine.” Sherlock whispered.

“What… what the hell was that?” John breathed.

Completely befuddled, John ran his thumb over the unbroken pale skin and gasped as he looked back into Sherlock’s eyes, still trying to believe what he was seeing. Trembling, John stiffened a little, his hand over his lips for a moment as if speaking would break some sort of spell that had been cast upon him to see these impossible things.

“What are you?” he asked, frowning gently.

“There are many things in this world, John, that are not human. Do you really want to know which category I fall under?”

“Yes. Then I would also like to know what I am…”

John curled his fingers around the sun amulet around his neck and stroked it gently for comfort, the amber warm in his hand. Sherlock mirrored him, touching his moon pendant with his long fingers, brushing it feather light and hanging his head for a moment, flicking only his eyes up to John.

“You are blessed. I told you.” Sherlock replied.

“Why? Why me? I am just a mortal. What can I do? I am no one.” John replied, shaking his head and frowning as his heart hammered wildly in his chest.

“I do not know. I am not privy very often to the God’s plans.” Sherlock shook his head.

“What are you then? You speak of the Gods as if you know them personally… you have a second form. You are not mortal. I know that for sure.”

John didn’t really think about the fact that Sherlock was still in his arms and likewise, Sherlock found he didn’t mind being cradled against John’s chest, looking up into those warm, intense eyes with an unwavering gaze of his own. The two felt that odd tug of kinship again as they looked at each other with wide eyes.

“No…” Sherlock replied after a moment, “No, I am not mortal.”

“What are you? Are you a shape shifter? A nymph? A-are you a God?” 

“No, no, no, not a God.”

“What then?”

“My… my mother was a God.”

“Y-you are a Demigod?”

“Umm… technically. Yes.”

John nodded as he got his head round it, blinking a few dozen times before swallowing thickly. Bowing his head low to the Demigod, he screwed his eyes up in embarrassment about how he had told Sherlock he didn’t believe in Gods. All this time Sherlock had hidden his true identity from John.

“My Lord… forgive me for losing my faith.” 

“Do not. Do not do that.” Sherlock replied.

The Demigod pushed away from John, his face and jaw tight with his annoyance at the way the mortal was now acting around him. Bending, scraping, grovelling. It was all humans ever did before their Gods and it made Sherlock’s stomach twist. He wasn’t to be worshiped, he didn’t want to be worshiped. 

John looked hurt as Sherlock pulled away from him, shivering a little from the loss of the warm body in his arms. Moving closer to the fire, John looked into its depths, remaining quiet and still for some time before he looked back up at Sherlock.

“I am sorry. My dear friend, I am glad you are here…” he whispered.

Sherlock shivered himself and ran his arms around his thin body for warmth and comfort. Looking at John, he considered the mortal man for a moment and finally nodded at him, giving a low sigh.

“Once again, I owe you my life… you seem determined to keep me indebted to you.” Sherlock replied, the slight tweak of a smile giving away the fact he was teasing.

“You were the stag,” John whispered, laughing joyfully, “You were the one who showed me the beauty of this world again.”

“Yes. I was the stag. Would you… like to see?” 

“I would be honoured.”

Nodding, Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he got to his feet, stepping back to have more room in which to change forms. There was a shine of bright moonlight as he shifted back into the stag, the fur a pale grey, dark along his spine and fading to a gleaming white on his neck and stomach. Flicking a velvet ear, he gave a soft bay at the human and shook his antlers gently.

Looking up from his kneeling position on the ground, John’s eyes went wide, reflecting the bright light that seemed to make Sherlock shine silver. There was that beauty once more, shining down on him again and John found tears blooming in his eyes and streaming down his slightly grubby cheeks. He was so humbled by the sight, feeling slightly small and insignificant compared to the great creature beside him, much larger than a normal stag.

Moving closer to the mortal and crooning softly, Sherlock dipped his head to nuzzle the tip of his cold, wet nose against John’s cheek. John lifted his hand and pressed it to Sherlock’s neck, stroking the shockingly soft pelt with trembling fingers. It was the softest thing he’d ever touched, not wiry and rough as a normal stag. He kept having to tell himself that this wasn’t a normal stag.

“You will stay by my side?” John asked.

A soft bay and a toss of the great shining white antlers, Sherlock gave his answer by letting his knees fold, the great stag lying beside the human. It was a promise to John that he would be protected and comforted throughout the night, giving the mortal the time he needed to rest his weary body.

“Come with me to Athens. Please…” John whispered, stroking the flank of the stag.

John’s eyes were growing heavy with exhaustion that washed over him, resting himself against the soft fur of Sherlock’s belly with a sigh. A small toss of Sherlock’s head gave his agreement and he curled around the human as best as he could. John smiled and rested his hand in Sherlock’s soft pelt, falling asleep in the others company. Sherlock followed suit, finding solace in his companionship.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here within, John and Sherlock are now reunited and set out for Athens, they talk about the Heavens and Sherlock decideds a trip to Athens is for the best.

It was an odd sight, the grubby little man and the huge pristine stag on the edge of the forest together, sleeping gently in the moonlight, sparks from the fire lifting into the air and shining softly around them. Nature and mankind slumbered together side by side in comparative ease at the moon slid past them, giving gracious way to the sun.

When John woke, Sherlock was once again in his human form beside him, John’s head still resting lightly on his stomach in the position he had fallen asleep in the early hours. The sun was beginning to burst its way into the sky, reds and pinks washing over the road and warming it immediately, dew glinting like bright little diamonds on the long grass around the makeshift camp. 

Getting to his feet, John stretched and looked towards the sunrise with a smile on his face to greet it. Gasping, he yelled and covered his eyes, the sunlight almost blinding him, its heat intense behind his eyes. In a second it was gone and John was on his knees, hands over his eyes in shock. Sherlock had woken at the yell and he frowned softly at the man, his eyebrows knitted together.

“Is something wrong?” Sherlock asked.

John pulled his hands away from his eyes and looked at Sherlock, flecks of gold embedded in the blue of the iris. Everything seemed brighter to him and his heart felt light as the bitter misery inside him began to fade.

“Fine. Just… fine.” John breathed, smiling softly and looking distant.

Regarding the mortal man carefully for a moment with concern etched on his pale face, Sherlock pushed his dark curls from his eyes and stood, stretching himself in the rays of the sun that drenched their makeshift camp.

“I saw my boy… when I looked into the sun. I saw him. He was smiling.” John whispered after a long moment, his eyes wide.

Joy shone brightly in John’s eyes as he watched the sun bathe the land around them in its golden light for the brief moment of dawn. It was his favourite time of day, even better than sunset which always left John feeling a little empty and lost once the sun had disappeared behind the horizon.

“It made you happy… to see him again.” Sherlock blinked.

“Yes. But even more to know that the Gods are with him, that Apollo protects him.” John replied.

Happiness flowed right through John, coursing through every vein and infusing his very soul with joy, joy so strong it made the flecks of gold in his eyes glimmer brightly. Sherlock gave a bright smile at the joyous look on John’s face and couldn’t resist leaning forward to brush the tips of his fingers over John’s warm cheek.

“It is good to see you smile.” Sherlock grinned.

“It is good to be able to again.” John replied.

Closing his eyes at the gentle touch to his face, John let out a sigh of contentment pushing his face to the fingers a little bit, enjoying the gentle contact with the other man. After a few moments, Sherlock withdrew his fingers.

“We should begin our journey. The sun is already nearing its zenith.” he said softly.

“Yes, we should,” John sighed, grimacing at his bloody tunic, “The first river we find, I must bathe. I am still covered in your blood.”

“We should go back into the forest. Bathe, get food, water and then return to the road further north.” 

“Yes, that sounds very good. I do have a little money, perhaps closer to Athens, I can purchase new clothes. I look like a beggar.”

Looking John over, Sherlock personally found nothing wrong with his appearance, but just turned to lead the way back under the familiar canopy of trees that ached together to create a natural dome above their heads. 

After a short walk, they came to a large, deep pond not far from the road where the water was sweet and cool, dappled light shining through the canopy of the trees in sharp beams. Perfect conditions for morning bathing.

John was a man of little shame and he stripped the tattered clothing from his tanned body, diving into the cool water and popping up in the middle, rays of sunlight shining around him as he shook the water from his hair. He was truly blessed by Apollo, guided and watched over by him. It was clear to see by the way the sunlight caressed him, gilding his hair to make it shine like spun gold.

Sherlock couldn’t help but admire the other man’s supple body in the mottled light, the bronzed skin and the scars of battle shining like a lacework of silver had been inlayed into his tanned flesh. He was in the prime of life, so strong and handsome.

“I left some of my personal effects behind… do you mind staying here while I fetch them?” Sherlock asked, his eyes still dancing over John as he swam.

“Not at all.” John replied, beaming a bright smile.

Swimming around, he scrubbed his hands over his arms to rid himself of the dry blood that clung to his skin from the previous evening. Nodding, Sherlock shifted back into his stag form and leapt off through the woods in a flash of silver.

Swimming around for a bit, John took to floating on his back, happy to remain in the cool water until Sherlock returned. It was an hour later that the stag returned, melting back into human form before he came to the edge of the water where John was dozing, half his body still in the water, his arms folded under his head on a moss covered rock jutting out of the ground. Opening his eyes slowly and lifting his head sleepily, John looked up at his companion and smiled brightly at his return.

Beckoned by the silvery glint of the water and the mortal man swimming within it, Sherlock dropped his pack on the bank and tugged off his tunic hurriedly to bathe in the water, wanting to scrub himself clean before they set off. 

John swam closer to Sherlock, looking into the Demigods eyes and smiling at him gently. He held up the moon shaped pendent, letting it dangle between them on its thin leather thong, water gently dripping from the quartz.

“You dropped this.” 

Flushing a little - a shot of pink spreading across Sherlock’s pale cheeks and illuminating the tips of his ears - he reached out and took the amulet back with delicate fingers, pressing it to his chest. 

“Thank you.”

“Do you not think it odd?” John asked, pressing his fingertips to the sun amulet on his own chest.

“Yes.” Sherlock replied after a moments silence.

“What do you think it means?” John questioned, eager to understand.

Lifting the charm, John made Sherlock wear it round his neck, pressing his tanned fingers over the quartz which felt cool against the palm of his hand in contrast to the warmth of Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock looked down at John’s hand over the skin and charm, now hanging in its rightful place round his neck, letting out a low breath.

“I… I do not know.” Sherlock admitted.

“The Gods brought us together…” John breathed, resting his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders.

Both their hearts were hammering, beating in a soft staccato in their chests, their eyes locked together. Sherlock’s hands slipped to rest at John’s waist and now John blushed a little bit too. 

“Yes…” Sherlock breathed.

John didn’t know what possessed him to press the soft plump cushions of his lips against the gentle pink bow of Sherlock’s, but briefly they met. Sherlock felt a shiver run through him as their lips met, a soft noise of surprise leaving his mouth at John’s lips closing over his own, but he didn’t pull away from the mortal. He was enjoying the sensation of their lips gliding together, fitting together perfectly as if one had been made for the other like a lock and its key.

“Oh, Gods…” John whispered, his eyes still closed as he pulled back.

Looking at John with wide and curious eyes, Sherlock dipped in to kiss him a second time. John knotted his fingers into the curls of the Demigods hair, cupping the back of his head gently as they kissed for a second time. This second one was much nicer as they were both expecting it.

The water around them began to warm up, to bubble as it heated, becoming more like a warm bath than a cool natural pool. That was odd, there was no volcanic activity around here, or for miles around really.

“Sherlock… I… can you feel that?” John asked, feeling the heat of the water on his skin and thinking that he were going mad.

“Yes, I feel it.” Sherlock sighed softly, his arms soft around John’s waist to pull him closer.

The water bubbled, just above comfortable but still pleasant on their skin. John let out a breath and threw himself into another desperate kiss, pulling Sherlock close against his chest. Grinning wide, John rocked his head back and let the sun bathe his skin, thanking the Gods for bringing them together. Melting into the embrace, Sherlock pressed himself to John until they were flush against each other.

“Sherlock, I have no idea why… but I know we have to go to Athens,” John breathed, looking up into Sherlock’s eyes, “It is important.”

“It is my mother’s city. The people… they are turning from her.” Sherlock nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly.

“That is a bad thing… yes? What are we supposed to do?”

“I do not know. But we are certainly not going to get it done here.”

It was wonderful, swimming together in the heated water, but they should really have been getting on. John nodded with a low sigh, pulling himself up out of the water and lying on the soft grass for the sun to dry him.

“Sherlock… what are the Gods like?” John asked, his eyes closed.

“Cruel…” Sherlock replied, going on his first instinct, “Well… some of them are cruel. They are not like you and I. They care only for their own politics, their own woes, many of them think of humans only as their pawns.”

“And your mother? What about your mother?” John asked, taking Sherlock’s hand as he joined him in the sunlight.

“The last time I saw her, I was just a child. But she was… beautiful… kind.” 

“You have not see your mother since?! Why not?”

“She is a God and I am not. She does not have the time to always be descending. She has her own worries, her own cares. Often it is my brother who brings me news of Olympus to me, or tells me my mothers wishes. She… I see her in my dreams, sometimes.”

“But, she is your mother…”

John could see now why Sherlock seemed so lonely, lost without his mother. He couldn’t help wishing things were different for Sherlock, that he had his mother by his side as he had.

“Apollo… is he kind?” John asked, changing the subject.

“Sometimes…” Sherlock replied after a moment to think, “He can be subject to his own desires, let us say.”

“So, I am a pawn to him and your mother,” John sighed, looking up at the clear blue sky, “He was kind enough to show me my son…”

“Perhaps he has changed. It has, after all, been many, many long years since I have had dealings with the affairs of Gods or men.”

“Your mother, what is her dominion?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Like Apollo is the sun God… what is she the Goddess of?” John asked.

Resting his hand on Sherlock’s chest, John looked alert, finding the idea that Sherlock’s mother was a Goddess completely fascinating. Hell, Sherlock himself was the most interesting person he had met in his entire life and he found that he wanted to hear much more about his life. Sherlock smiled and rested his hand over the top of John’s, fingers gently stroking his skin as he gazed at John.

“Wisdom. She is the Goddess of knowledge and justice, of just warfare. She is the Goddess of the arts, of skill, of mathematics and strength. Inspiration. Civilization.” Sherlock replied, glowing with pride as he spoke of her.

“You miss her…” John whispered, kissing Sherlock’s chest, “She should be proud of you, you know. That pride that glows for her, I am sure it shines for you too.”

“Yes, I miss her. I loved her, for my part.”

“Will you ever see her again?”

“I do not know.”

“I hope you do.”

Rising to his feet, John began to dress himself in his slightly bloody tunic - even though he found it distasteful to dress in soiled garments - readying himself for the long journey. Sherlock thought upon his mother as he dressed himself. She came to him often in his dreams, held him, sang to him and stroked his hair. He longed for her contact now, to have her help guide his way.

“We have a long way to go.” John sighed, taking Sherlock’s hand as they turned back to the road.

“Yes, we do. But together, the road may not seem so long.” Sherlock nodded, his fingers winding with John’s as he shouldered his pack.

“Yes, the company is nice. So, the Gods… is it really all white togas and gold bangles?”

“Sort of. They do like to appear a certain way to mortals, that much is true. But… Olympus, it is… full of colour and music, full of sweet smells and gardens.”

“It sounds wonderful… it is a shame I will never get to see it.” John sighed, chewing on his lip.

It would never be possible to for a mortal to walk in the halls and gardens of the Gods, it had never been granted and probably never would. It was the mortals destiny to go travel to the Underworld when they died. Lowering his eyes as the conversation died down, Sherlock thought of the one time and only time that he had been to the mountain of the Gods. It was beautiful, true, but it’d left him with a deep ache inside of him. He hadn’t belonged to the land of the Gods, just as he didn’t belong to the land of mortals. But with John… with John he felt like he finally belonged somewhere. By the mortals side.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here within, John and Sherlock become close, Sherlock gets and unexpected visit from his mother and learns that the Gods have plans for them both.

The rest of the day passed by with ease, the pair of them talking about all and sundry, their laughter turning their journey light, the pair of them not noticing how quickly the day was moving in each others company. It was a wonderful way to pass the time, just getting to know each other, what made them laugh, what made them sad, what things they had in common - which actually was very little.

As they hit the halfway mark on the road to Athens, the weather began to turn. It was slow at first, the temperature dropping as a cold wind began to blow, black clouds beginning to build and race towards them, creeping along the blue sky and turning it as black as night in just a few seconds.

Pulling John close under his arm as the winds whipped up around them, Sherlock held him tight, the both of them having to bow their heads as the gale tried to push them back the way they’d came. It was hard work to keep walking, both of them being blown off course when the wind gusted at them from the side, ending up falling into the ditch.

“We should look for shelter for the night, John.” Sherlock yelled, his voice fell on the wind.

“Who could we possibly have angered?” John called back, shuddering in his thin tunic.

“I do not know. Come on!”

Lucky for them, there was a small abandoned barn not far off the road that would give them shelter for the night from the wind and now the driving rain that soaked them through in great sheets that stung their exposed skin and made it red. Holding Sherlock’s hand tight, John began to make a run for the barn, desperate to get somewhere warm.

The barn was old and broken down, but it was better than trying to camp out in the rain and wind. Sherlock was shuddering with cold, rubbing a numbed hand through his sopping hair as he pulled John’s trembling body close, finding what warmth he could with the other man in his arms.

“Sh-Sherlock… we should get a fire going.” John muttered, shuddering with cold.

Nodding, Sherlock moved to the middle of the floor, to a fire pit where others had sheltered here the night. Pulling flint from his sack, he built a fire up, trying to strike a light in the dry hay with numb and shaking hands. He got a few sparks that just danced in the hay for a moment then died. Sherlock had got more bruises on his fingers from accidentally striking his hand with the flint, than he had sparks.

“We need more than this to get a proper fire going, John.” Sherlock sighed, rocking back on his heels.

“Here…” John whispered.

Taking the flint from Sherlock’s hands, he began to stack up the fire a little better, bringing flame forth in the tinder with the first strike of the flint. Smiling he pulled some of the old wood from the partitioned walls for the animals, throwing them onto the growing fire to build it up.

Quirking an elegant brow at John’s ability to swiftly draw forth a flame in such poor conditions, Sherlock huddled gratefully beside the fire, peeling his sodden tunic from his skin to dry it. John copied him, hanging it up to dry and basking in the warmth of the fire, curling close to Sherlock to share their body heat.

“Are you alright?” John whispered, his eyes half closed.

“Just cold.” Sherlock replied, sniffing a little.

Leaning gratefully into John’s warmth, Sherlock continued to rub his hands over his skin to get warmth into his limbs. John was plenty warm already and let Sherlock press his cold skin against his own, holding Sherlock‘s hands in his own to warm them up, breathing his hot breath on them every so often.

“That storm picked up quickly.” John sighed, kissing Sherlock’s shoulder.

Sherlock found great solace and warmth at the gentle kiss pressed to his shoulder blade, heat bleeding through him from where John had kissed him. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against the mortals, moving close to him even though he was naked save for the moon shaped quartz about his throat.

“Feeling better now?” John asked, rubbing his hand over Sherlock’s back and warming him up.

“Much.” Sherlock smiled, nuzzling close to John, arms round his waist.

“We should stay here until the storm is past.”

John pressed his head to Sherlock’s chest, feeling tired and comfortable in his arms. Nodding in agreement, Sherlock brushed his hand absently through John’s golden hair, looking into the fire.

“Yes. It may not be until morning.” Sherlock said gently.

“That is fine by me.” John breathed, sounding sleepy.

“You are so very warm, John.”

“Just naturally so.”

Sherlock nuzzled closer to John, his fingers cascading up and down the column of his spine, making John shift a little as it tickled, a little chuckle leaving the mortal the Sherlock found to be rather endearing. John lifted his hand to brush over the smooth skin of Sherlock’s collarbone.

“Sleepy…” the mortal whispered.

“Sleep then. It has been a long day, love.”

Nodding, John smiled and relaxed, his arms slowly going lax around Sherlock’s body as he dropped off to sleep, comfortable beside his Demigod. Gently, Sherlock rested John back in the remainder of the hay that made a soft and comfortable bed for them both. 

Sherlock found it harder to sleep at night - doubly so with the storm raging over their heads - but with John beside him, it wasn’t too hard for him to find sleep, warm and safe in the mortals arms.

It was deep into the night that a fell voice began to call to the Demigod, audible even through the terrible storm. The voice called softly at first, like a breath of wind through the branches of a weeping willow, like the sound of a babbling brook. If one wasn’t paying attention, it would have been mistaken as the wind that was currently battering the outside of the barn.

“Sherlock. Sherlock…”

It was a gentle voice but it was becoming insistent, somehow remaining soft and so very full of love for the one being called for. Sherlock hummed as the voice echoed in his mind and through he didn’t want to leave the warmth of John’s arms, the voice was so lovely, so familiar.

“Mother?”

A gentle breath of wind washed over Sherlock and the soft sound of beating wings and rustling fabrics met his ears as the little Demigod began to stir, began to waken from his deep slumber.

“Wake up, my boy.” Sherlock’s mother called.

Opening his eyes slowly and rolling away from John, Sherlock moved towards the gentle figure with open arms. Athena stood resplendent in the humble barn, standing taller than the average human, and certainly taller than Sherlock who had to look up into her eyes. Sherlock’s heart glowed and he smiled as he folded into his mothers embrace, smiling even wider at the kiss to his brow.

“I missed you, darling boy.”

“I missed you too, Mother. I think of you always, but… why now? Why now have you come to me?”

“Because you have questions and I need you to help me, darling.”

Athena lifted her hand and stroked at Sherlock’s curls, wrapping him close in the folds of her red cloak to keep his naked skin warm. Always the same, Sherlock. He had been hard to keep dressed when he was a child and Athena smiled at that thought. 

Sherlock couldn’t help but feel like a little boy again, curled tight in his mothers silken robes and thick cloak, his head nestled on her shoulder. He looked up at her with complete adoration in his eyes, clinging to her.

“How can I help?” Sherlock replied, being the dutiful son.

“You need to take your man to my temple in the city. He has been blessed by Apollo… he is going to bring faith back to the people. Just as you brought it back to him.” 

Kissing Sherlock brow and stroking his cheek, Athena showered her affection over her youngest son. Nodding, Sherlock moved closer to the maternal attention that the glowing Athena was giving him. 

“Of course,” Sherlock pulled back to look up at her, “Mother… the storm. Is someone trying to keep us from your city?”

“Yes, love. A terrible fuss is being made, but you and your John can handle it.”

Athena’s eyes - bright as Sherlock’s and full of wisdom - gazed softly at the mortal still sleeping soundly in the hay in a tight ball, carefully taking him in and assessing him. He was strong and clever. The perfect match for her Sherlock.

“You have questions about him.” she said, looking back to her son.

“Is he human, Mother?” Sherlock asked, fingers brushing over his amulet.

“Not all of him, no. While he was born of a human mother and father, the blood of Gods runs in his veins. The blood of Apollo to be exact. The sorrow and loss he has felt has not been of our design. We tried to save on his heartache. He is being watched more than he knows.”

The smile that graced the Goddess’ face was glorious and bright as he looked down at her son. Sherlock felt completely loved, adored and safe in his mothers embrace. Her eyes travelled to his amulet and back up into his eyes, nodding gracefully for him to ask his next question.

“Our amulets… we are meant for each other?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, my love,” Athena smiled, nodding graciously, “Unconventional as it is, you are destined to be together. He is a blood child of a God. One of the Twelve no less. In a way, he is like you. Mortal, but more powerful than he knows. Just like you. You are stronger than you think. The powers you have can shake the foundations of the earth. Together, you two are a formidable foe to our enemies.”

Humming a sprightly tune softly, Athena adjusted her cloak around Sherlock to cover his cold skin a little better. Holding the fabric with both hands close to his chest, Sherlock shook his head and frowned, not quite understanding.

“Powers? What powers do I have, Mother?” Sherlock asked.

“Love,” Athena replied, resting her hand on her sons chest, “It is a powerful thing. You could take on Zeus himself with the love contained in this heart. You will be able to protect your John with this power, in turn he will protect you. You must have gathered where his powers lie.”

“Love. In his hands? He healed me before…”

“Yes… he has the gift of healing. He runs as hot as the sun inside. It is a wonderful gift. You feel it, the warmth when you touch him, the flame that jumps from his hand.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and touched at his breast, at the skin and bone over his gently beating heart, his fingers brushing his amulet a little. Deep inside the cage of bone, he could feel a fire blazing, one that warmed him through and gave him such courage that he felt he could take on the Twelve themselves.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, opening his eyes again and looking up at his mother, “I feel it now. Even inside me.”

Sighing, Athena bundled her son close to her chest, looping her arms around him and pulling a gold and ivory comb out to brush through Sherlock’s curls as she did when he was young.

“I have missed you, my love. But you will get to see me much more when you come home.” she said lightly.

Sherlock’s eyes grew wide, looking innocent and so very young as he gazed up at his mother, suddenly regressed to a little child at his mothers attention.

“Home? I… I can come home? With John?”

“Yes, love. For your union.”

“Oh, Mother.”

Sherlock felt warm all over and he felt beautiful, loved, glowing with his Mother’s affection and with the depth of his love for John. He moved closer to Athena as she continued to comb his hair until it curled delicately and neatly.

“Why did you not come to me before?” Sherlock asked, breaking the silence.

“At my Fathers will, I had to leave you. You needed to fend for yourself, to learn on your own. I wept for a long time when I left you, my son.” Athena whispered, closing her eyes sadly.

“I missed you, Mother. For so long. This world is cold and lonely and cruel.”

“But look at what you have found in this cruel and lonely world,” Athena whispered, turning Sherlock to look at John, “I came to your dreams as often as I could.”

Sherlock couldn’t help the warm smile that seemed to flood him with heat and happiness that coiled low in his stomach as he looked at John, sleeping so peaceful, so beautiful. 

“John… yes, there is John.” he breathed.

“It is time for me to go.”

Sighing, Athena turned Sherlock to look back at her and kissed his brow gently, taking her red cloak off and getting to her feet, Sherlock’s hand in hers as she took him back to his John.

“Come along now.” she said softly, getting Sherlock to lie down.

“Will I see you again soon, Mother?”

“Yes, darling,” Athena smiled, throwing the cloak over both Sherlock and John, “I am proud of you, Sherlock. Of all my sons you have done me the proudest.”

“I love you, Mother.”

Athena lent down and stroked Sherlock’s hair gently, toying with his curls. Smiling softly at her and with a fond gaze, Sherlock snuggled down under the warmth of the red cloak. Kissing her son’s forehead, Athena smiled down at him.

“I love you too. I have left you food and water for the morning, fresh garments more befitting of the sons of Gods. Sleep now, my son.”

Kissing Sherlock’s brow again and pressing a kiss to John’s too, Athena got to her feet. Watching as Sherlock closed his eyes and curled against John, she smiled warmly at her little son as if he were a child once more.

“Goodnight, Mother.”

“Goodnight, Sherlock.”

The light that had seemed to shine like starlight in the barn slowly faded as the Godly presence left, to just dim down to be lit by the light of the fire. John let out a breath, holding onto the cloak and frowning gently in his sleep as Sherlock draped his arms around him, both of them drifting off into a deeper sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here within, John is shocked by the appearence of breakfast and rather disgruntled he didn't get to meet a God.

By the time morning came, the storm was much worse, the rain almost sideways with the force of the gale that was blowing. The barn creaked with the constant battering from wind and rain, but unseen forces kept it standing, protecting the beings inside from being crushed.

Frowning as he ran his hand over the cloak, John sat up and blinked down at it, scratching his head and wondering where on earth it had come from. Sherlock was still asleep beside him, face soft and innocent, almost glowing in the soft light of the still burning fire. John tried not to wake him, but he was getting increasingly confused by the subtle changes here and there.

“Sherlock?” he called softly, resting his hand on the Demigod’s shoulder.

“Hmm?” Sherlock hummed, yawning and opening his soft, iridescent eyes to look up at his partner.

“Did you go out last night?”

“No… no, my Mother came to me.”

John smiled, happy that Sherlock had to see his Mother, but also a little annoyed that he’d slept right the way through it. He would have liked to have seen a God in the flesh. Leaning down, he took it upon himself to kiss Sherlock awake until Sherlock sat up, pulling the gorgeous red cloak closer around them.

“What did she have to say?” John asked, yawning.

“She told me that we have to go to Athens, to her temple.” Sherlock smiled softly, effused with love.

“What for?”

“We are going to held restore faith to the people, love.”

Swallowing thickly, John went wide eyed and he jumped a little as the barn gave a loud creak in a sharp gust of wind. Soothing him with gentle touches and soft kisses over his skin, Sherlock looked into John’s eyes, cupping his face in his long fingered hands.

“Sherlock, I… I do not do well with crowds.”

“I will be with you, love. There is nothing to fear. The Gods are with us.”

“But there are things to fear… so many things. What if they burn us as heretics? You say they have turned from your Mother. They are capable of anything.”

“I am with you, John. I will not let anything happen to you.”

To ease the building panic building in the mortals eyes and chest, Sherlock leaned in to press his lips to John’s. John smiled and pressed his lips back, the feeling of panic beginning to melt inside him, to be soothed away from the love Sherlock was showing him.

“Mmm, I still wish I could have met your mother. That experience would have been wonderful.” John smiled, blinking a bit rapidly from the kiss.

“Soon, John. You’ll meet her soon, I promise.” Sherlock replied.

“I… I will be… meeting her?” John asked, his eyes a little wide.

“Yes. Yes, my love. You will be able to meet her.”

“How come?”

“Because you are mine and I am yours.”

“Sherlock, what if she does not like me? After all… you are a Demigod and I, well I am just a mortal.”

“She loves you already, John. And you… you are no mere mortal, love.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You have the blood of a God in your veins, my John. You are blessed by Apollo. Can you feel it, flowing within you?”

Swallowing thickly and blinking a few times, John chewed on his lip. Of course he could feel it. He’d felt it his entire life, the fire burning away just under his skin, the way he healed so quickly, the way he never seemed to have a problem lighting a fire. Then there were the dreams he had every night, filled with fire and bright sunlight. Were these all manifestations of his ‘blessing’ then?

“What am I then? I am no God.” John said in a small voice.

“No, but you are no mere mortal.” 

“So, I could have done something… to save my family? What is the use of being like this if it cannot save the people I love?” 

“You have saved me, John.”

Lifting his head again, John smiled his thanks at Sherlock’s attempt at comforting him, stroking at the pale skin of Sherlock’s cheek and nodding slowly.

“I did, yes. But that does not explain why my prayers were not heard.”

“I do not know… I do not know why you had to hurt so much, love.” 

“That is something I will have to bring up with them myself,” John sighed, looking up at Sherlock and smiling gently, “You look happier for seeing your Mother.”

“Yes…” Sherlock replied, closing his eyes, “I am happier for seeing her. I missed her, deeply.”

“You are practically glowing.”

Reaching out, John petted Sherlock’s curls gently. Pressing his head into John’s hand, Sherlock hummed softly and found John’s lips again, kissing him deeply. John let out a small breath as he kissed Sherlock back, the barn creaking loudly but still being held firm by the unseen forces on their side. Looking up at the roof of the building, John swallowed thickly with worry.

“Gods… someone is determined to bring this place down around our ears.” he breathed.

“They will not.” Sherlock replied, kissing John to distract him.

“Whoever it is, they want us dead.” John sighed, twitching at the sound of lightning.

“I am not sure we can wait until the storm passes. We need to get to a temple. It will be safer there.”

“But it is a full days walk from here and the road will be flooded. It is dangerous.”

Gripping Sherlock’s hand tightly, John was far too proud to tell him how much he feared storms and had done ever since he was a small child. Sherlock kissed John again, determined to calm him down, even if it took all day. Not that he would complain at kissing John all day to keep him calm.

“It is not going to get any better. The rain will keep coming until the road is blocked. We must go, my darling.” Sherlock implored.

“Sherlock… I am scared. More than that… I am terrified of storms.” John admitted after a tense moment of silence.

“I will be with you,” Sherlock whispered, draping the red cloak around John’s shoulders, “Mother will be with you.”

“Let us eat and dress before we do anything hasty.” John sighed, pulling the cloak close to his body.

Getting to his feet, Sherlock brought the new clothes to John, showing them to him in the light of the fire. They were made of fine white woven cotton, soft under John’s fingertips. The hem was decorated with purple fabric and gold thread picked out a delicate design of laurel leaves.

“Gifts, from the Goddess.” Sherlock smiled.

John had never seen anything so fine - or owned such finery - and when he slipped the soft robe over his skin, it fit perfectly and made him look rather regal. Sherlock pulled his own on and arranged it so it hung beautifully round his waist and over one shoulder, his amulet resting on bare skin. While John wound the gilded leather straps of the sandals up his calf, Sherlock decided to pack his own away, preferring to remain barefoot. Turning to look at John, he gasped and his eyebrows shot up.

“John… you look… so very lovely.” he breathed.

Chewing his lip, John smiled faintly at Sherlock and blushed brilliantly, his hands settling about the belt round his waist. He picked up Athena’s cloak and gasped as it split in two, right down the middle. It was better this way, as together the cloak was far too big for a single person to wear. Naturally, Sherlock’s mother had the foresight to make it into two, so both her dear son and his companion could be protected by her power.

Moving forward, Sherlock took one half of the great cloak and swung it round John’s shoulders, fastening it in place with a golden broach with the symbol of Apollo on it, a brilliant sun. John blushed again as he felt the weight of the material settle on his shoulders, looking up at Sherlock as he was dressed by him. He’d never been this well dressed in his life. He had only ever seen the rich nobles dress like this back home and that was only on special occasions such as the feasts of the Gods.

Stepping back to look at John, Sherlock smiled brightly and he rested his hand over John’s pendent, near his heart. John squirmed a little bit under Sherlock’s pale gaze, feeling awkward in the new clothes.

“You look beautiful.” Sherlock whispered.

“I feel like a fool.”

“Nonsense. You look perfect.”

Smiling and running a hand nervously through his hair, John smiled. His face gleamed with happiness, looking up at Sherlock with his gold flecked eyes as he leaned in to kiss him hard, the both of them getting lost in each others eyes. John let out a breath, gently holding Sherlock’s shoulders as he kissed him back.

“We should eat.” John whispered, sounding dopy.

Drawing John to sit back by the fire, Sherlock brought the tray of food and wine left for them by his Mother and set it between them. Of course the food was the best John had ever tasted, succulent and sweet fruit, crisp bread and delicious meats. The best by far was Ambrosia and honey, the food of the Gods. 

They lounged as they ate, Sherlock picking absently at the meal and nibbling a little at the rich, dark bread, his eyes never leaving John as the mortal ate. John blushed, very aware that Sherlock was staring right at him.

“There has to be something better to stare at than me…” John whispered meekly.

“Nonsense. You are the most beautiful vibrant thing in this room, John.” Sherlock grinned.

“Only thanks to your mothers gifts.” John replied, dipping breath in honey and eating it delicately.

“You were beautiful in nothing but your skin.” Sherlock said, sucking errant honey off his middle finger.

“Said the son of a God.”

It was Sherlock’s turn to blush as he ate another bite of his bread. John leaned forward and gave Sherlock a kiss that tasted of honey, getting to his feet as he finished the goblet of fine wine, turning to stomp out the last embers of their fire.

“I think we should head out.” he said bravely.

Packing what remained of the food away in his pack and pulling it over his shoulder, Sherlock tucked it under his cloak and held his hand out for his partner to take, wiggling his fingers. John smiled and took it gently, entwining his short fingers with Sherlock’s long elegant ones.

“Are you ready?” Sherlock asked.

Pulling the cloak over his head and round his body, John took a deep breath and smiled, nodding without faltering. 

“Ready.”

Giving John’s hand a firm squeeze, Sherlock held John close as the two of them stepped out into the rain, they were going to get soaked through to their skins anyway, there was no point in hurrying as they began to walk down the sodden path, the road dangerous underfoot if you weren’t looking where you were going.

It was as they reached the fork in the road and turned towards Athens that they realised the cloaks somehow kept them dry, the water just running right off their shoulders and keeping the bitter wind out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here within, this chapter is suspiciously long, Sherlock and John take refuge in a temple of Hermes, Sherlock is reunited with his brother, they meet a mortal by the name of Greg, who really doesn't want to get wrapped up in this God thing and we finally learn just what the hell is going on.

Their progress was slow and steady as the weather tried to throw them from the path with increasing strength, but with his hand in Sherlock’s, John wasn’t as scared. Sherlock kept their hands tight together as they travelled through the rain, wind and mud, trudging towards the shelter of the nearest temple. Unfortunately for Sherlock, the temple was one of those along the road that belonged to his obnoxious, loathsome God of a brother. Of course. All the small temples along the roadside were Mycroft’s, he was the God of commerce and travel after all. 

After their long day of trekking, the relative warmth and dryness of the temple was welcome to even Sherlock. Neither of them were surprised to find another traveller there, trying to stay out of the rain. He already had a fire roaring in the pit and he looked up with a warm, small smile as he rubbed his hand through his damp silver hair. 

“’Lo.” the stranger greeted, his tone soft and kind.

John smiled back at the man who had greeted them, warm and friendly, even though he was visibly almost frozen solid from the bitter wind. The silver haired man seemed in good spirits despite the weather and John almost wished he was as carefree as this man, he wished that he just saw the rain as a bit of bad luck on his travels. That he wasn’t the cause of the horrific weather.

“Greetings.” John hailed, lifting a hand.

Shaking off the water still clinging to his cloak, John looked round the temple for a moment and then up to Sherlock, rather obviously defensive and tense about being in a temple after all these long years.

“Are we safe here?” he whispered, unsure if this particular gods temple would be such a good place to rest.

“Yes it is only Mycroft’s temple,” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes, “We’ll be safer here than anywhere else, save the temple of Athena.”

The silver haired man curled at the fire to get warm lifted his dark eyes to Sherlock and frowned lightly at him, muttering under his breath.

“Not right to come into the temple of the God and badmouth them…” the man grumbled.

Smirking a little bit, John took Sherlock’s hand again and squeezed it gently, a warm look on his face as he looked at the stranger.

“I think my dear Sherlock has the right.” John replied.

“Oh, I think it was highly impolite of my dear brother.” called a low tone from the shadows.

Sherlock looked from the impertinent human, to his John and then finally to the statue where the deep, soft voice had come from, eliciting a groan of complete petulance from the Demigod. He swiped his damp curls out of his eyes and very nearly stomped his foot like a small child.

“Oh, leave it be, Mycroft, will you? For a God you do so love to meddle on Earth.” Sherlock huffed, folding his arms.

The silver haired man raised his eyebrows and looked over his shoulder at the statue at the far end of the temple, his cheeks turning a bright red and his dark eyes growing bright and wide. The look of shock left him looking young and innocent.

Mycroft stepped into the light, his pale face shining, in fact his whole aura seemed to gleam and shimmer with light. The God gave a silky chuckle, jumping lithely from the plinth of his own statue with light feet. 

“Mycroft… he… is Hermes?” John whispered to Sherlock, blinking a little bit as the God approached.

Growling softly, Sherlock seemed to become tense, round shouldered and beyond annoyed, rolling his eyes again as his brother made his way towards them with such a smug little smile on his angular face.

“Yes,” Sherlock confirmed with a snarl, “And if he is going to be a prat and stick his nose into my business, I’d rather take my chances in the rain.”

The poor silver haired man looked so very lost and awkward as he knelt there. Blinking heavily, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief and when the image didn’t fade, he lowered his eyes from the God that had so abruptly appeared, feeling very much like an intruder. It wasn’t polite to look at a God’s face and here he was with a God in the room and all he could do was marvel at him like an ignorant teenager.

“Oh, do grow up, Sherlock. The storm is worsening and know this is more than the natural system of things. There is a God behind this, maybe more than one.” Mycroft sighed, smiling at his brother and bowing his head to him all the same.

Fathomless eyes turned to John, looking him over. This one was the one that his mother had been talking about so fondly as if he were one of her sons. Eyes ghosting over to the man on the floor. This one was new… not part of the plan.

“Lift your head, Mortal. You have every right to be in my temple.” Mycroft cooed softly.

Sherlock gave a great huff of irritation, sweeping his cloak back over his shoulder and tugging John gently into the further reaches of the temple, away from the mortal and God. John followed and moved his arms around Sherlock to get him warm, feeling the tremble of cold running through him. Pulling John into his arms, Sherlock rubbed some life back into his cold skin.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock whispered, glad Mycroft was distracted by the mortal for now.

“I am fine, Sherlock. You are the one whose cold… look, I am warm already.” John smiled, pressing his warm hand to Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock sighed softly, closing his eyes and humming as the simple touch of John’s fingers brought with it a welcome warmth that began to seep into his limbs, bringing his cold and numb extremities back to life.

Greg slowly lifted his eyes from the floor, his cheeks beginning to turn a very bright shade of red. He was at a complete and utter loss as to what to say to the God, unsure if he should say anything a all. 

Smiling graciously, Mycroft dipped to his knees and rested his hand on the shoulder of the unsure human in reassurance. Greg felt the tips of his ears turn as red as his cheeks as the God touched him and he swallowed, blinking a little.

“You are welcome as any here, Gregory. You are one of the faithful. Come further in where the wind cannot chill you.” Mycroft smiled. 

As Mycroft took the humans hand and moved forward into the temple, large cauldrons erupted with flame around the temple, bathing the stonework in warm light. Greg shouldered his pack and moved deeper into the temple with the God, feeling the warmth of the flames guttering around him.

“Thank you, My Lord.” Greg whispered, his eyes still wide.

“No need to call me that, Gregory. I have a name and you would do well to use it.” Mycroft breathed, taking rather a liking to Greg.

Seating himself on a stone bench, Mycroft rested Greg’s head in his lap and stroked at his hair like he were some sort of pet. Greg’s brow only furrowed a little at the turn of events, hardly daring to believe it as his head was suddenly resting in the God’s lap and a pale hand was stroking through his thick silver hair. He wasn’t at all sure what was happening. Maybe he’d developed a fever from being out in such dreadful weather. Perhaps this was all some strange and wonderful hallucination brought on by such a fever of the brain. Whatever it was, it felt like madness, complete and utter madness.

“A name… so am I to call you Hermes? Mycroft? I have heard you called by many names… Mercury, Holmes… which am I to use?” Greg asked, looking up at the God.

“You are not feverish and you are not going mad, Gregory,” Mycroft smiled, chuckling softly again, “I suppose you may call me Mycroft, seeing as my brother is here.”

Mycroft’s eyes flicked up to Sherlock and gazed at him, tilting his head to one side taking in Sherlock and then turning his eyes to John to look him over with a degree of interest on his face.

“So this is the one blessed by Apollo?” Mycroft asked softly, eyes on John’s.

“Yes, and it is none of your business.” Sherlock replied haughtily.

“That would be me.” John replied firmly and proudly, resting his hand on Sherlock’s arm.

Greg sat up abruptly now that he‘d had time to think, frowning lightly again in his confusion and disbelief at just what he was hearing. For the love of the Gods, he was being coddled and having his mind read! That had to be an invasion of privacy right there!

“Wait, wait, wait… are you reading my thoughts? And brother?” Greg exclaimed, looking back at the other two men.

“Calm yourself, faithful one. A God has many powers. You are cold and weak from travelling, relax.” he said softly stroking Greg‘s hair again.

“Yes, right… that is all well and good for you to say, but I have suddenly got a God running fingers through my hair… and another two over there who are apparently important. You want me to relax? Not bloody likely, I am afraid, all respect due.”

“I would rather have your relax than put a strain on yourself and your weary heart,” Mycroft whispered, stroking his fingers down Greg’s cheek and mirroring the sorrow in Greg’s heart in his eyes, “You are on a pilgrimage to heal your broken heart. How better to do that than allow a God to tend to you? The faithful deserve to be looked after by their Gods.”

John snorted at that and it was his turn to roll his eyes in annoyance, folding his arms and pouting at Mycroft. He did however move forward and take Greg’s hand, holding it between his palms to warm him through almost immediately.

Greg had gone silent for a moment, blinking in confusion. In all that had so suddenly happened, he’d forgotten why he was taking this pilgrimage in the first place. Beyond Athens, to the temple of Aphrodite he was bound. Then there was Mycroft’s hand in his hair again and he was almost relaxing, warmth spreading through him from the touch of the other man. Frowning, Greg sat up again and held his hands up in the air.

“Alright, alright, enough of all that, yes? This is all a bit much, yes. Unlike you lot, I am just… just a mortal man. You cannot… cannot just go poking around in my head and what not. It is not on!” Greg said firmly.

Frowning down at Greg for a second for his little outburst, Mycroft took the mortal mans face in his hands, shushing him gently as he looked into his eyes. A soft smile graced Mycroft’s face as he looked into Greg’s eyes, sighing gently.

“You are more than ‘just a mortal man’. You are important. All of the faithful are, but you are the model worshiper. You have spent many hours in my temple. You asked for help, you asked me to help you and that is what I am trying to do, Gregory. Aphrodite will send you along with false hope and meaningless joy. You are a mortal man, but you are so very important to this world. To me.” Mycroft replied, his eyes never leaving Greg’s.

Listening and watching as Mycroft spoke to the man, John couldn’t help but frown a little bit at what he was hearing. He cared, Mycroft actually cared about seeing this man in such pain and he was trying to help him. More than that. He was trying to mend his broken heart. It was a noble thing to do, yet so trivial for a god of Mycroft’s status to be doing. It was so very confusing.

Greg couldn’t help but stare unabashedly up at the face of the mighty God, his dark eyes pinned on Mycroft’s. He finally began to relax a little. It was true, he had spent every night since he had started this journey in Hermes’ temple, praying for safe travel, that the journey would mend his heart, that he might find purpose again. Now all those prayers were being answered personally by his God.

Leaning forward, Mycroft cupped the back of Greg’s head and kissed his forehead, a great blessing indeed for a simple mortal. The kiss would melt away the aches and pains of travel, allowing the man to rest easy. Greg felt a great warmth flooding slowly through his body, relaxing him to his very core. This time, he willingly rested his head in Mycroft’s lap, his eyes closed.

“Please, rest a while,” Mycroft smiled, blushing as he looked up at his brother, “You see, not all Gods care not for the ones who pray to them, brother. You could have been the same. You could have had your own temple, your own followers and garden in the heavens.”

Backing up, John put his hand back in Sherlock’s. Not all the gods were bad, he reminded himself, but Mycroft was defiantly a pain in the arse, that was for sure. Sherlock gave John’s hand a soft squeeze, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“I am not a God, Mycroft, no matter what you may think. Unlike you, I must earn my place in the heavens.” Sherlock replied coldly.

“Oh, Sherlock… you are a God. It is in your blood. You turned your back on us. Amazing how one mortal infused with the blood of a god can turn your head.” Mycroft replied, a smirk playing on his lips.

Remaining quiet, John watched Mycroft, a burning sickness in his stomach as he looked at him. This was the God he had prayed to when his family had crossed the sea, to protect them on their voyage. The one that had abandoned them. It was a wonder that he hadn’t punched him yet.

“I did not turn my back. You have never understood!” Sherlock snapped.

“You turned your back on humans too. You were shunned by all thanks to your childish view on where you belong. You belong with the Gods that bore you.” Mycroft sighed.

Flushing brilliantly, Sherlock’s jaw clenched at his brother’s words. He didn’t belong anywhere, not with Gods, not among humans. He’d carved out a life for himself by the blood and sweat of his brow.

“He belongs by my side. That is where his home is.” John replied, cutting through the heavy silence. 

Looking sideways at John’s works, Sherlock moved closer to the other man, a warm spark deep in his chest. A little smile twitched at the corners of his lips.

“Oh, the stranger speaks concerning the matter of the Gods. Go ahead… say what you want to say…” Mycroft sighed, rolling his eyes.

Stroking at Greg’s hair again, Mycroft tended to him, food and wine appearing seemingly out of thin air. John seethed with anger at being talked to like that, at being ignored so easily.

“You have no right to talk to me like that. Just because I am not a God does not mean that I am unimportant. You just said so yourself to the traveller you have at your feet!” John yelled, his voice ringing to the high ceiling of the temple.

Raising a brow in awe at the man beside him, Sherlock gasped at his fervour, his passion. This was the voice that would rouse Athens, that would bring the people back to worship. Even Greg opened his eyes, flicking them up to John and being held captivated by his words.

“There it is,” Mycroft whispered, smiling, “The voice that will make the heavens shake. Apollo chose well in you.”

The God smiled wider and dipped his head low to John for a moment before opening his arms out to both his brother and to John, welcoming them to sit and join in the feasting. John’s shoulders dropped and he shook his head a little, smiling to himself as he sat beside Greg to eat. Sherlock moved with him until they were all sitting in a neat semi-circle around the food, safe and warm from the still pouring rain outside.

After a pause of silence that was filled with the sounds of eating and drinking, Sherlock looked up at his brother, a quizzical look on his face as their eyes met.

“You are the God of travel, can you not make the road safe for us?” he asked, tilting his head.

Shaking his head and sighing, Mycroft looked incredibly troubled as he turned his face to the ceiling, looking up at it as if he could see right through the stone and marble to the sky above.

“Trust me, I have tried. Chaos is ruling… the Great Mountain has been closed to all. I came to Earth to talk to you… no I am stuck here.” Mycroft sighed, eating delicately.

“Stuck? How can you be stuck?” Sherlock frowned.

John listened carefully, only a little distracted by the wonderful food, a frown on his face. Greg was still finding this all very overwhelming, by the sudden appearance of a God, food, warmth, shelter, these other two who appeared to be - at the least - blessed and chosen by the Gods. John saw the look on Greg’s face and rested his hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you alright, my friend?” John whispered.

“Fine, yes… just… well its all a bit much to be getting on with.” Greg replied, giving John a small, tight smile.

Silence had fallen between Sherlock and Mycroft as the God chewed his food, thinking carefully before answering his brother.

“To bar the one doing this from entering our home and wreaking havoc,” Mycroft replied after a short silence, “Can you imagine what could happen to us all if it came to pass? Flame would fall upon the world of men! The seas would boil and we would be cast down and locked in the halls of the Underworld.” 

“Can’t our Grandfather do something? Or is he content to just sit among the Council of the Twelve and watch the world fall to ruin?” Sherlock asked sharply.

“Our Grandfather has enough to contend with. It is he that holds the gates of Olympus shut and it takes its strain on him. The Council of Twelve are scattered, doing what they can to save their follower. There are many Gods trapped here. The moon will not rise, Selene is stuck here along with Aphrodite, along with many more. They are protecting their faithful. As am I.”

Mycroft’s long fingers gently brushed the back of Greg’s neck and he looked softly up at his God. Surely he couldn’t be the only faithful follower still praying at the temple of Hermes?

“What can we do then, against this unnamed foe?” Sherlock asked, lifting his chin.

“He is not unnamed… his name is being whispered everywhere these days in the world of me. It is Dionysus… he is bent on destroying all we have made.” Mycroft breathed, looking at Greg and giving him a weary smile.

Sherlock’s frown deepened and he clenched his jaw just a little tighter. He’d never had any personal dealings with Dionysus himself, but even in his secluded part of the world, people were turning to him. Turning away from the twelve. Turning to a life of chaos and debauchery, to drinking and merrymaking, forgetting their duties and forgetting to be loyal to the Gods who had ever protected them. 

“Where is he now? Not in Olympus, I take it.” Sherlock asked, head tilting.

Oh by the Gods, Greg was not so sure if he was ready to be involved in any quarrels among Gods and Demigods. He was just mortal, he kept telling himself, just a mortal who has stumbled into this mess. Mycroft stroked Greg’s cheek and rested their foreheads together to calm the man’s frayed nerves.

“Dionysus, he is the cause of this storm. He is rallying the darkest creatures of our world to fight against us,” he sighed and looked into Greg’s eyes, “In turn… we must rally the loyal to be blessed.”

Looking softly into the eyes of his God, Greg swallowed and nodded, his heart loyal and firm, even if the rest of him was a bit shaky. Across from them, Sherlock wrapped his fingers around John’s and held them tight as he looked up at his brother.

“Mother came to me last night,” Sherlock said quietly, “John and I are bound for Athens, for her temple.”

“Then as our would be saviours, you are going to need all the help you can get,” Mycroft replied with a nod of his head, “I will travel with you. But first, this one needs to be blessed to stand by our side as a champion of our cause. We have a God and Demigod, we have our healer and speaker… now we need our warrior and protector.”

Gentle fingers took Greg’s hand and squeezed it, a smile on Mycroft’s face. Greg blinked, looking around at the others who were gathered there, his jaw falling slack in complete shock.

“What, me? You want me on this… this journey? Merciful Zeus…” Greg breathed, running his hand through his hair and looking around at expectant faces, “I am no Spartan… but… I will do what I can.”

“You are more than a Spartan. You have fought before and won… now come.” Mycroft whispered.

Getting Greg onto his feet, Mycroft led him by the hand to the back of the temple where it was quietist. Greg tried not to stammer as he was led away by the great God. John let out a sigh as he watched them go out of sight and hearing, looking at Sherlock with a soft smile on his face.

“I gather we are going to be staying here?” John chuckled, kissing Sherlock tenderly.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Sherlock said softly, turning to stroke John’s stubbly cheek, “Have you ever been to Athens, my John?”

“No, I have never been there before. I have longed to walk its streets though. But now I am not so sure I will enjoy it,” John smiled, looking weary as he rested his head in Sherlock’s lap, “Feed me?”

“You are liable to get very spoiled this way, my darling.”

“I am sure, but it is nice to have a little comfort of someone dear to me feeding me.” John purred, chuckling a little bit as he ran his hand up and down Sherlock’s arm.

“Yes, I imagine so.” Sherlock smiled feeding John little morsels.

John lifted his hand to stay Sherlock’s for a moment, smiling a soft little smile and looking into his eyes. A happy sigh left both their lips and that made John smile all the more.

“I love you, my dear.” John whispered.

“And I love you.” Sherlock replied.

“I think we should rest. We have Gods to battle and creatures to slay on our journey.” John smiled, a good mood infusing him even if they were living in dark times.

Giving a deep baritone chuckle, Sherlock kissed his partner again before he rose and picked up his pack, bringing it to his side. Lifting their cloaks, the two pieces of fabric fused back together to grace them with Athena’s protection while they slept. John flopped down and pulled the cloak over himself and smiled as he pulled Sherlock close to keep him warm.

“Your brother is irritating.” John whispered.

“Yes, I know.” Sherlock huffed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here within, Greg and Mycroft get very intimate and Greg gets a blessing (and some).
> 
> Some pretty NSFW stuff in this chapter, just a warning for those of a delicate disposition!

The annoying brother in question had taken Greg to the back of the temple behind the grand marble statue where it was quiet and the light dim. Long and elegant fingers began to remove Greg’s worn sandals and then the grubby cloth that covered Greg’s weathered skin. As the nimble fingers stripped him bare, Greg blushed and was certain that the God shouldn’t be removing his well-worn clothing, it was a task beneath him. There was no shame on Greg’s face at his nudity, he was proud of his sun-bronzed skin, peppered with gleaming silver scars of battle from many years ago.

Looking into the mortal’s eyes, Mycroft smiled softly at him and looked at Greg appraisingly. Leaning forward the lips of God and mortal met. Greg was shocked, letting in a soft breath of surprise, not sure what to do with his hands.

The effect of the kiss was instantaneous, the changes moving over Greg’s body in a wave. The scars Greg carried faded away, the skin becoming smooth and golden, his muscles were becoming more toned by the second. As the changes came to a stop, Mycroft deepened the kiss, pulling Greg’s arms up to holding him back, humming as he felt the strength in his muscles now.

A small sigh left Greg and he moaned softly at the deepness of the kiss, his tongue now sliding over the Gods, marvelling at how human this all was. Pulling out of the kiss, Mycroft gazed into dark eyes, fingers sweeping through silver hair.

“The pleasures of this world… I have often indulged. But never in this.” Mycroft whispered, his lips kiss swollen.

“You’ll have to be more specific as to what this is.” Greg replied, laughing softly.

Taking a step away from Greg, Mycroft let his robe fall to pool at his feet, reaching out and bringing Greg to the cushions and gently pushing him down on it with much more force than he would have done with an average mortal. But Greg was so very much more than that. He was blessed.

Propping himself up on his elbows on the soft cushions, Greg looked at the God, wide eyes washing over his flawless body and the soft skin that seemed to gleam with a ethereal light.

“By the Gods… you are so beautiful.” Greg breathed.

“And you… look at you now, my champion,” Mycroft replied, tracing over the renewed strength and muscle of the man, “The beauty shines in you… from you.”

Greg did look down at himself and shook his head slightly in disbelief. Lifting his eyes back up to the God, he rested his hands on Mycroft’s chest, tracing over the soft skin and letting out a breath of wonder. The progress of Greg’s hands made Mycroft smile, humming a little as his lips found Greg’s, feeling more than just his usual Godly compassion. There was attraction and a much deeper feeling bubbling in his chest.

“My faithful one…” Mycroft whispered against Greg’s lips.

Emboldened by the God’s movements, Greg ran his fingers through dark hair, rolling them over and lightly pinning the God against the soft cushion with a smile on his face, his eyes soft.

“You are beautiful.” Greg breathed.

Dipping down, Greg brushed his lips against the God’s. Mycroft gasped and kissed back, his body slipping against Greg’s. The strength Greg had been gifted with had now was more than enough to pin down even a God of Mycroft’s station. Pressing his hips down, Greg began to grind against him.

“I want to make love to you. Here in your temple, to the sounds of the rain.” Greg whispered.

“Oh yes… this is what I have waited for.” Mycroft replied.

Gasping and tipping his head back, the force of Mycroft’s breath leaving him in pleasure made all the torches flicker. Greg didn’t miss the flicker, his eyes widening as a coil of heat pooling inside him. Dipping down to lavish affection with lips and tongue and teeth across the expanse of the God’s neck.

“Do you have oil?” Greg breathed, his voice rough.

“Yes… of course.” Mycroft whispered, his own voice weak.

A graceful hand was waved at the little gold jewelled jug off to one side, Mycroft struggling a little under Greg’s strong hands. His cheeks flushed red and he parted his legs for the mortal, fixing his eyes on Greg’s as he kissed down his chest and sucked on one of his nipples.

Groaning loudly, the God voice made the jug tremble on its little silver plate. Soft cool hands skimmed over Greg’s skin, his fingers moving lower to grip at his sun kissed buttocks. A growling noise left Greg and he moved his hand over Mycroft’s chest, down the perfect chiselled body between the God’s quivering thighs.

Shifting, Mycroft planted his feet and the stone flags beneath them cracked and were imprinted with their shape. Kissing Greg deeply, he groaned as the man broke away and licked over the softly glistening skin of Mycroft’s body, down towards his cock taking it into his mouth and suckling on it firmly, his hand skating up for the God to slick his fingers.

The very earth itself was quaking under them at Mycroft’s groans, the gorgeous heat of Greg’s mouth making his skin prickle with electricity. By the Gods! Why hadn’t he indulged in this before now? Then again, he’d never found a human like Greg before now.

The oil was warm and smelt slightly sweet, one used for blessings. Not that either of them cared as Greg turned back to kissing Mycroft passionately as his fingers began to push into the panting God.

“Yes… my champion, yes…” Mycroft panted, his voice soft and gravely.

He was trying desperately not to bring the temple crashing down around his ears as Greg worked his fingers inside him, the God looking perfectly mortal when he was lost in the throws of passion like this. It were as if the stone walls of the temple were flexing in and out with every breath the God sucked in and then puffed out.

“Oh Gods…” Mycroft breathed, his eyes glowing almost as he looked into Greg’s eyes.

“Beautiful, beautiful Mycroft…” Greg whispered.

Each sigh and moan of the God sounded like soft rain, or the wind sighing through willow trees. It was a wonderful sound to behold. Even more wonderful was the sight of Mycroft’s body undulating beneath his mortal lover, almost taunting him with the movements of his body.

“I want you…” growled Greg, gleaming with sweat now.

“Take me, my champion.” Mycroft groaned back.

At the Gods will, Greg closed his lips over Mycroft’s and settled himself between his thighs, until finally, achingly slowly to savour every inch of the push in. Mycroft’s nails scraped the floor, gouging marks into the stone with a grating sound that made Greg flinch a little. Back arching and eyes widening, Mycroft’s back arched.

“Oh my… oh, Gregory…” he whispered, his eyes glinting as he looked deep into those of his lovers.

Forcing his eyes open to look back at Mycroft, Greg could feel the God’s power flowing through him and he moaned, not even moving yet.

“Gods…” he whispered, “You are gorgeous… so wonderful…”

Unable to stop himself, he dipped back to kiss Mycroft’s perfect bow of lips, grinding his hips gently. Gripping to the mortal’s hair a little, Mycroft brought his lips to Greg’s and closed over his mouth, giving one powerful breath into the man, feeling his power flood the man’s system. Breathing back, Mycroft took all the sadness and pain from Greg, resting his head back on the stonework to blow a silvery substance from between his lips, vaporising all the negativity on the air. Hips bucking unconsciously, Greg flushed a brilliant red. He felt light and strong, like nothing could harm him any longer.

“What did…”

“I answered your prayers.” Mycroft whispered.

Pressing his hand over Greg’s good heart, Mycroft moaned as a rhythm built between them, the mortal holding him up in strong arms. They were perfectly in sync, even their breathing, their moan’s echoing together. Hand to the back of his mortal lover’s head, Mycroft’s cheek brushed Greg’s, his breath ruffling through his silver hair.

A low rumbling was drawn from the mortal as the God’s lips found his neck and soft pressure was built up to suck on the golden flesh, rolled between teeth. Mycroft’s breath was soft and gentle as he felt an unusual coil of something in his stomach he couldn’t quite understand. It was like a snake coiled low, writhing and trying to escape its cage.

With a rather abrupt burst of pleasure, Mycroft groaned in ecstasy and the torches of the temple were all snuffed bar a few by the alter, the pleasure washing through the God’s body as he painted his alabaster skin of his stomach with his semen.

Greg was only a few seconds behind Mycroft, spilling himself deep inside his lover, cheeks flushed a ruddy red as his hips continued to jerk forward long after orgasm. Forehead pressing to the God’s shoulder, Greg panted for breaths and both their bodies stilled.

“My champion… how you glisten in this light.” Mycroft whispered, stroking a shaking hand through Greg’s damp silver hair.

“Shit… that was… amazing…” Greg panted, giving a small breathless laugh.

“Language…” Mycroft giggled, pressing his finger over Greg’s lips and then kissing him tenderly.

Kissing back, Greg untangled himself from the God and rolled onto his side. Mycroft sighed gently and moved closer to Greg, a soft blanket in his hand to drape over their naked bodies, a glass of wine in the other hand to quench his lovers thirst. Greg was finding it hard to suppress a yawn, sitting up to drink from the goblet in his hand.

“You will stay beside me tonight?” he asked, sipping a little more.

“I am always with you, Gregory. I have always been with you. I am stuck here on earth and as long as I am, I will remain with you.” Mycroft replied, his hand back in Greg’s hair.

Nodding, Greg drank the wine slowly before settling down on the plush cushions, an arm out for the God to settle beside him. Curling into the embrace, Mycroft sighed and rested his head on bronzed skin and firm muscle. Kissing the top of Mycroft’s head, Greg found sleep easily in the safety of the temple.

For the first time, Mycroft felt the need to sleep himself, something he had never felt before. He felt his eyes drop closed and he drifted away with Greg to slumber, tied to him and whichever dream-world that Greg found himself in.

The night passed with the rain continuing to fall, many roads being washed away, homes and lives destroyed across the country with tides of water that ran like a river through villages and cities of the region. But the four beings in the temple were safe and dreamless in restful and peaceful sleep, wrapped around each other.

The only way one could tell it was morning was that the black sky was marginally lighter. But the gloom still hung over the temple, the wind and rain never halting in its ferocity for a second. The wind was terrifying, howling and gusting against the stonework, trying to get to the people safely ensconced within.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here within, the company set out to make their way to Athens and Greg learns more about John.

Sherlock woke in the early hours of the morning to the harsh peel of thunder and blinding flash of lightning. Shivering, he nuzzled into the warmth of John’s embrace. John let out a small breath as Sherlock moved into his arms and sleepily pressed a kiss to his forehead, opening his eyes with effort to gaze out of the temple. The darkness was a terrifying and foreboding sight.

Shivering again, Sherlock closed his eyes tighter, tucking his head under John’s chin and drawing the cloak over them tighter as the chilled wind managed to gust through the temple entrance and wash over them.

“I have never seen a day start so dark.” John whispered, holding Sherlock’s hand and looking fearful.

Sherlock’s nervous and skittish nature had him whimpering as another loud roll of thunder shook the temple with its power. He missed the sun. He missed the moon. The stars. The fresh, clean air. The rain was suffocating, the dark clouds doubly so, as if the sky itself threatened to fall and end them all, crush them under its weight.

John was equally scared, the loss of sun affecting him much more than Sherlock. The loss of it chilled him to the very core and he almost felt weak, as if all the strength were drained from him.

Holding Sherlock to his chest, John hid his face away in the folds of the red robe, their task at hand seemingly impossible without the light. Closing his eyes, Sherlock could hear his Mother’s words ringing in his mind. He had to be strong. For John.

Embracing John just as tight, Sherlock raised his lips to John’s to ease his panic and to give him something to focus on. The noise of the rain, the peeling of thunder, the flashes of lightning, they were nothing. A simple matter to overcome.

Kissing Sherlock back, John stroked his hand through Sherlock’s soft curls, his fingers still trembling. He actually gasped and started in fear as he heard a metal bowl crashing to the ground, his heart leaping at the noise. There was a called apology from Mycroft, even one of the Gods themselves couldn’t find rest through a storm such as this.

Looking out between the pillars of marble to where the rain was still pouring, Sherlock told himself that this couldn’t last forever. Either way, they would need to press on to Athens despite the weather. Kissing John once more, he stroked at John’s golden hair.

“Come along, love. Let us eat and continue on our way.” he whispered softly.

Mycroft emerged from his and Greg’s sanctuary behind the statue, once more clothed in his sweeping white robes as he left his love to clothe himself with the fine new garments. Seating himself gracefully, Mycroft looked at the fierceness of the rain, lifting his chin defiantly and narrowing his eyes.

“Dionysus has much more power than he should. Not a good sign for us, brother. I will protect us to the best of my ability.” he said, sipping wine.

Greg emerged a moment later in his new tunic, soft sandals on his feet and a fine short sword by his side. Sherlock looked him over with a soft smile on his face, noting the changes Mycroft had wrought in him.

Turning to his brother and nodding, Sherlock shouldered his pack and draped his half of Athena’s red cloak over his shoulders. Between the two of them, they should be able to make the journey safe. After all, who better to travel with than the God of Travel himself?

John decided he would stay out of the brothers way for now, they needed to concentrate on how to best to progress on their journey. Hanging back with Greg, he began to slowly consume his breakfast while the Godly ones discussed the best route to Athens as it was clear the road was no longer safe to travel along.

“You look much happier, friend.” John smiled, looking up at Greg.

The mortal looked strong, the strength in what had been a once weakened body. Nodded and smiling to himself, Greg sat and joined him, eating with gusto. The storm didn’t seem to have any affect on him at all.

“Yes… Mycroft… blessed me.” Greg replied.

It was hard to put into words just how much the God had done for him in such a short time. Raising his eyes to the God, his dear lover, he smirked a little. The brothers were arguing, gesticulating fiercely as they debated which road to take.

“Yes, I believe the Great Mount itself heard the blessings last night.” John chuckled.

John’s eyes were glittering with wit as he looked steadily at Greg, pouring the champion a glass of honeyed wine. Greg cleared his throat and his cheeks flushed, taking the wine with a nod.

“And you? Is that your God?” Greg asked.

“How do you mean, my God? Sherlock is nobodies God. He does not wish to be. He is my… partner, one could say. I love him with all my heart, but I do not worship him. I was blessed by Apollo. Seemingly at birth.” John replied, drinking himself and eating the fruit before them.

Nodding, Greg took note of the way that John seemed to be suffused with a golden glow, verses the pale moonlight glimmer that hovered round Sherlock aura.

Sherlock and Mycroft had finished their arguing by now and had managed to come up with a plan. The Demigod moved back to sit beside John, plucking a grape and popping it into his mouth, the juice bursting over his tongue. John smiled and took Sherlock’s hand, kissing the knuckles of it lightly as he looked up into his loves eyes.

“So, how are we to continue on our journey?” John asked gently.

Mycroft settled Greg’s head in his lap to stroke at his hair as he began to eat himself. Greg, at being coaxed back into the God’s lap, just smiled and went with it. Looking up into Mycroft’s eyes, Greg almost purred at the long fingers combing through his hair. Sherlock stroked a hand briefly over John’s cheek with a smile.

“We are going to take the high road through the forest. It is shorter, on higher ground, but may be more dangerous.” Sherlock said softly.

“I suggested to stick to the road, but my brother is adamant that it will be being watched by Dionysus and his followers. My powers are great, but the road would bring with it a natural protection. Alas, my brother believes he is correct.” Mycroft sighed as he fed Greg.

“Natural protection or not, most of the roads will be watched and flooded.”

“Very well then, the forest route we shall take. But it has many tales told of travellers who have not heeded my warnings and have never come out.”

“Fine. You are the oh so important God of Travel. We will go on the bloody road.”

“No, no… I would hate for you to get your toes wet. We will take the forest. I am sure whatever has been slaying travellers will not dare take on Gods and their Champions.”

John sighed and rolled his eyes at the pair of them. They were like bickering children. Greg just looked between the two arguing Gods, curious to see what the final decision would be.

“No, no, no, it is your powers that will be protecting us on the journey. So we will take the road.” Sherlock huffed, wrinkling his nose.

“It is your knowledge of the world of men that is guiding up on our way, we take the forest.” Mycroft snapped, folding his arms.

John gave an annoyed little sigh, his eyes levelled on Greg, who looked quite amused. Sherlock gave another huff and fell into petulant silence, Mycroft narrowing his eyes at his brother.

“Oh for the love of the Gods in their golden heaven!” John yelled, the temple shuddering with the force of his voice.

The look on Mycroft’s face was that of complete shock that such a voice could come from such a small man. Sherlock’s face fell free of its petulance, his eyes wide as he looked at his love, cowed into silent shock by the power of his voice. John himself made a few surprised breaths, pretty sure his voice had never been that loud before.

“Can we just pick a route and get on our way before the weather erodes this temple and brings it crashing around our ears?” John said in a quiet tone.

“Do you have a preference, John?” Sherlock asked, flushed a little.

“Whichever is the quickest. We need to get there fast, do we not?”

“The road would be faster under normal conditions, but the path through the forest is shorter yet harder.”

“Then we take the forest, we would be less exposed for a start. If travellers get lost in it, does it not make sense that we would go unseen?” John asked, looking for confirmation.  
  
“My thoughts precisely. Mycroft is worried that he will not have as much power in the forest and about the various creatures that live within it. But I do not foresee it being an issue.” Sherlock nodded.

“My powers are infinite! I will have no problem creating us a path through the forest,” Mycroft retorted, rolling his eyes at his brother, “The protection the road could give us all was my concern, it would be of benefit. But, never mind.”

Sherlock had to resist the urge to petulantly stick his tongue out at his elder brother, figuring it would do nothing to help the situation. Instead, he just turned to John and nodded with a sigh.

“Shall we go then, my John?” he asked gently.

“Soon,” John replied, getting to his feet and walking close to the entrance, “I have been watching the rain. Every few moments there is a lull in the weather. Enough time for us to get to the forest while the storm rallies its power again.”

Pulling his cloak tighter round himself and moving to stand beside John, Sherlock looked out into the torrential rain. Greg moved beside them, a hand light on the hilt of his blade, just in case.

Looking down at the joining of Sherlock and John’s hands, Mycroft looked down at Greg’s. There was no need to hold hands, but Mycroft took Greg’s through impulse alone. Not thinking twice about it, Greg simply entwined his fingers with Mycroft’s, naturally wanting to keep him close, the protective edge he’d been feeling intensifying greatly as they moved out into the pounding rain. Pulling Sherlock along, dodging some of the larger puddles, John led the way to the trees.

Before they could get to the tree line, the storm rallied itself and it was more than just puddles they had to dodge. Great bolts of lightning were cast to the ground around them, the heat from the bolts heating the air around them to unbearable temperatures. Only through Mycroft’s power alone did they miss the travellers themselves, just scorching the ground around them.

Sherlock was glad for the looming safety of the trees as a bolt of lightning nearly struck him, deflected at the last moment by his brothers power and the protection of his mothers cloak. They were all panting as they took cover under the trees, sheltering beneath a large sycamore. Greg felt his heart pounding, looking back out at the roadside, charred and pockmarked with scorch marks.

“It is as if Zeus himself is against us.” he whispered.

“Well with the gates of the Mount sealed, he may as well be.” Mycroft snorted.

John was shaking like a leaf, holding onto Sherlock and trying to calm himself. Mycroft adjusted his perfectly dry cloak, his chin held high, oblivious to the fact his three travelling companions were shaken.

“Just make us a path. A safe one.” John grunted, pushing Mycroft forward.

It was Sherlock who took the first few steps, pulling the hood of his cloak down and running his hand through his curls.

“It is this way.” he said boldly.

Taking John’s hand, he began to lead the little band of travellers through the forest, sure-footed, his bare feet making no sound on the wet ground. The forest seemed greener than ever with all the rain and an earthy smell hung in the air, making the forest seem claustrophobic to Greg who was used to more open spaces. But it was safe, this was their sanctuary.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here within, the journey through the forest continues, Sherlock and Mycroft have a heart to heart and yes, there is mentions of Holmescest, but this is Greek Myth people...

There was the constant sound of water hitting foliage, dripping into low pools at the base of the trees, but not a drop fell on them thanks to a mix of natural cover and Mycroft’s powers, which he was also using to create an even walking ground, even silencing all their footfalls to keep their passage a secret from the world.

At every odd noise and fleeing bird, John tensed. He was still scared, jumping a little when the wind shook branches from the trees, a large one dropping beside their pathway. Sherlock just squeezed John’s hand, feeling much more comfortable in the forest and he smiled as he pointed out a silvery owl to John, barely visible as it fluttered through the branches beside them.

“My Mother is with us… look.” he said with a bright smile.

“I do hope she is not stuck here.” Mycroft sighed.

The God looked nervous, chewing on his lip as he bowed his head low to the owl as it hooted at them from a branch above them. Sherlock rolled his eyes as if Mycroft were the biggest idiot he knew.

“It is just Glaucus, Mycroft. It is not Mother.” he replied.

Holding out his arm, Sherlock made a beautiful trilling noise and the huge silvery bird glided through the trees to alight on his forearm. He stroked it softly from head to tail and the great bird ruffled its tail.

“I know that, brother. But I worry for her. What if she is elsewhere? Stuck in one of her own temples on her own? Being locked out of the heavens is… humbling. I cannot feel her spirit. It pains me.” Mycroft whispered.

Sherlock stroked Glaucus gently and looked over to his brother, a hint of sadness on his face. The owl hooted softly and beat his wing gently against Mycroft, blinking at the God very slowly.

“The owl is a sign, my brother,” Sherlock said quietly, “She is safe and watching over us.”

Holding a hand out, Sherlock gently rested it on Mycroft’s arm lightly. The elder put his hand over Sherlock’s and closed his eyes, pain clear on his face. John stood beside Greg, his shoulders drooping, wanting to weep for the sorrow of the God.

The owl just gave another soft hoot and ruffled its feathers, head dipping in a bow of sorts to Mycroft. Greg wanted to go to him and put his arms round his lover. How lonely he must feel, even now, even with all of them around him. Sherlock gave Mycroft’s hand a squeeze before withdrawing his hand. John bowed his head to the great owl, a tear falling for Mycroft’s loneliness, one he understood perfectly.

“Go to him.” John whispered to Greg.

Nodding, Greg lifted his chin and strode to Mycroft’s side, winding their fingers back together firmly. Mycroft looked up in surprise at the hand in his and he frowned before leaning forward and finding solace in pressing his lips to Greg’s. The owl gave a louder hoot and fluttered off into the trees, Sherlock watching its path.

“She will watch over us, keep us safe.” Sherlock said.

John had already strode off, emboldened by the appearance of the owl and Sherlock went after him, his hand sneaking into the shorter mans.

“You know… for a God… your brother is a clot.” John muttered.

Looking at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, John smirked as a now smiling Mycroft and his champion had to run to catch up with them. Sherlock smiled at his partner and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Come along then. We will have to camp outside centaur territory tonight.” he said gently.

“They would not offer protection?” John asked.

Chewing on his lip and looking worried about having to sleep in the open for the first time since their journey began together, John frowned as he walked along. Shaking his head, Sherlock gave a little sigh.

“They can be… irritable. They live by their own rules. We may be welcomed and helped by them, but likewise, they may also be hostile towards us.” he explained.

“We can try, surely they would listen to a God?”

“They may, they may not. We will camp outside their territory tonight and venture in the day after. If they choose to shelter us, then we will no doubt have their protection even past the borders of their land. Otherwise, we can make haste and be out before nightfall tomorrow.

The fingers round his bow tightened and John found himself becoming more alert at the mention of centaurs and their possible hostility. He huddled closer to Sherlock in the chill, wanting to keep him warm with his own internal heat that seemed to keep him perfectly warm in the bitter cold. Sherlock was grateful for it, naturally gravitating to the heat of the man with a comfortable sigh.

The rest of the day travelled by with out any further incident, save for a few stumbles in the mud which resulted in a few swearwords but little else. A weariness settled in their bones as they made camp in the gloom of the forest, the evening already like the black of night. Lightning occasionally illuminated the entire sky, bush fires burning in the distance giving the sky an orange glow.

John didn’t like this, not one bit. It didn’t feel safe being out in the open now. Even with a fire lit with his uncanny ability to make fire spring forth from even damp wood, John felt a darkness over his heart, not just their camp.

Settling beside John, Sherlock huddled close to him and frowned lightly, feeling damp and miserable. Greg seemed the same as he nuzzled into his God’s warmth, looking deep into the flames of the fire. Mycroft remained on the alert, keeping Greg close in his arms and wrapping him in his cloak to keep the chill from his skin.

John’s clothes steamed a little as his body heat began to dry his clothes, curling close to Sherlock so he could benefit too. They were soon comfortably warm under their cloaks. The travellers stayed quiet, wrapped in their thoughts, snuggled with their respective partners as they stared into the fire.

“John and I will take first watch. You and Greg can take second.” Sherlock said softly.

Sherlock knew John wouldn’t sleep while he remained awake, he knew it true for Mycroft and Greg too.

“There is no need, I do not sleep. I have no need to.” Mycroft replied in a quiet voice.

Nodding, Sherlock curled close to John and their cloaks knitted together to keep them dry as they slept. John felt much safer at the thought that a God would be watching over them while they rested. Sherlock felt weary from the journey and gladly bedded down with John to sleep.

Greg sighed, unhappy at the idea, stifling a yawn as best as he could. He would remain awake with Mycroft all night if he had to and the God knew that. Stroking the mortal’s cheek, Mycroft kissed Greg’s forehead as he tucked him closer in the cloak.

“Sleep, my love. You need your rest.” Mycroft whispered.

John slipped into an uneasy sleep in Sherlock’s arms, a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Greg kept his hand on his blade as at last sleep swept him away. Sherlock stayed awake longer, stroking John’s hair and curling round him and stroking his hair.

“Brother… these mortals, there has never been any as close as this to Gods before.” Mycroft said softly, his voice barely a whisper.

“Nonsense,” Sherlock replied haughtily, “Many Gods have taken humans as consorts before.”

“As consort, yes. But never as bonded partners.”

“What of it?”

“We will have choices to make. You know that. When they die, they will leave us forever. Even as Gods we cannot keep hold of them. We will have to go before Zeus to ask for hem to be saved and brought to the Mountain Gardens. To become Demigods themselves.”

Sherlock felt a horrible coil in his stomach tighten and form a knot, nuzzling at John’s hair. Mycroft pulled Greg close to him as if he would never let the man go, the mortal twitching a smile and humming contentedly in his sleep.

“Mycroft… brother… I will not live forever. You know this. And… when John’s life ends…”

“You are a Demigod. You will die on the earth and your spirit will be reborn on the Mount. Like it or not, you are a God.”

“Not all Demigods find their spirits weighed worthy enough to be reborn.”

“What you are doing, what you are striving to do… once it is seen through, you will be more than eligible for rebirth on the mouth. To walk with the Gods as one of us. To come home for good.”

Sherlock closed his eyes for a just a moment. Home. He’d dreamt of it often as a young man, of walking the Mount with his kin, but never had he dreamed he would find himself worthy of it. His mind was filled with images of the Mount. The smell of wine and honey, the feasting and merriment to be had, the endless light and the beauty of it all. It was enough to settle an ache in his heart. Then Sherlock felt John shift and he looked down at the man, letting out a soft sigh as the images faded.

“I will not go… not without John.” he whispered.

“So you think I would want to return without Gregory?” Mycroft asked, tears in his eyes.

“We must think of our journey first… we must…” Sherlock muttered, pulling Mycroft to rest their foreheads together.

“If we can pull this off… these mortals will be bound to us. Forever. Even our Grandfather would see their victory and see the good in their hearts to allow them to walk with us on the path of the Gods.”

Sherlock nodded against Mycroft’s forehead and fell silent for along while. Mycroft suspected that Sherlock had gone to sleep, but found himself unable to pull away when he tried.

“Why did you forsake me, brother? Why did you leave me?” Sherlock asked, his words soft.

Sherlock didn’t truly want an answer, his eyes closed tight, still resting his forehead against Mycroft’s. Taking Sherlock’s hand, Mycroft squeezed it tightly.

“You walked away, you told me you did not need my guidance. But I always watched over you, Sherlock. You are family.”

“I loved you… I loved you and you left me here, alone. I had no one.”

“It would have ended in disaster. I was spending all my time with you. I was leaving my duties,” Mycroft looked into Sherlock’s eyes, “Look at what you have now. We could never have been like this.”

“I know… I know I have John… but I… I wanted to be with you… I loved you.”

“I am sorry. Sherlock, it was not out destiny to be together. Your destiny was to be with John. As it seems that mine is to be with Gregory. I does not mean that I do not care about you any more.”

“Did you… did you ever love me? The way I loved you?” Sherlock asked, ashamed to find hot tears pricking in them.

“Of course I did! It broke my heart to leave you.”

“Do you… do you still?”

Sherlock swallowed and sniffed, blinking back the tears from his wide and pale eyes. Letting out a little breath, Mycroft pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips for a long moment. Sherlock closed his eyes at the press of Mycroft’s lips on his, took a deep breath and withdrew a little.

“I will always love you. But I will never have you as my intended. It is not our destiny.” Mycroft whispered, stroking Sherlock’s face.

“Our destiny?” Sherlock asked, pushing his hand into John’s hair to hold his head to his chest.

“Yes… you think those pendants are just a twist of fate? No… destiny has had a hand in forging those.” Mycroft replied, resting his cheek on top of Greg’s head.

“I love him… so much.”

“That is good.”

Sherlock smiled as he touched the pendant round John’s neck, stroking it gently. John shifted in his sleep and pressed his cheek to Sherlock’s chest, snoring gently. Burying his nose in John’s hair, inhaling deep, Sherlock could smell linen and sunshine, soft and sweet, but earthy and deep. It relaxed him and he gave Mycroft a last look before he closed his eyes, drifting to sleep.

Mycroft watched Sherlock for a long moment as his brother slipped to sleep and sighed, turning away to move his attention back to his own intended. Greg sighed softly in his sleep, a heavy sighing sound leaving him as he got comfortable with his arms loose about the God. Humming gently, Mycroft began to sing to himself as he kept guard over them all, singing of soft dreams and warm slumber.

Listening to Mycroft’s gentle singing, Sherlock hummed softly in harmony with him. The sound was so very soft and sweet that the rain very nearly halted and the trees themselves moved their branches to create a shelter over the camp.

With an elder God watching over the sleeping men, nothing dared to come too close during the night. Only a few rabbits and small forest creatures came to shelter from the storm for a while, not minding that there were humans here. Peace and protection seemed to radiate from the place and the creatures of the forest happily came to rest beside the sleeping humans before they hurried off back into the forest.


	10. Chapter 10

Greg was the first to wake before the sun began to rise. Not that they would see it again today, the sky still a dull steel grey. Groaning, he rolled over and looked up at Mycroft, smiling a little bit as he opened his eyes.

“Hello…” he whispered, voice a little gravely.

“Good morning,” Mycroft smiled, stroking Greg’s hair, “If it is in fact morning at all. I do not think it will get lighter than this.”

Kissing Mycroft gently, Greg pressed back softly and stretched. Looking up at the sky, he hummed a little bit. It was a little brighter than it had been yesterday at least. Pulling his cloak round himself tighter, he rubbed a little life back into his limbs.

“Bit dismal, is it not.” he smiled.

“It will brighten soon enough, when prayers are sent to Mother and the Twelve, the skies will brighten with the sun to dry up every single last drop of water that has fallen on us.” Mycroft replied, smiling and kissing Greg again.

John was beginning to stir, pressing himself to Sherlock and nuzzling into the soft skin of his slender neck. Yawning, Sherlock nuzzled back and kissed him softly, half asleep still.

Turning his eyes away to give them a private moment, Greg looked back to his God and looked up at him with a little smile on his face. He half wished he had woken like that with Mycroft still slumbering in his arms so he could wake him with gentle kissing. Pushing it from his mind, he rubbed his eyes.

“How many days are we from Athens?” he asked through a yawn.

“Two, maybe less.” Mycroft replied.

Stroking at Greg’s hair, Mycroft did his usual trick of making food appear from out of nowhere and handing Greg a soft golden roll of bread and a cup of fine honeyed wine. 

John was shivering under the cloak and he sneezed loudly, waking Sherlock instantly. Frowning deeply, the Demigod pressed his hand to John’s forehead. It was on fire and John trembled under Sherlock’s touch.

“John… my John…” Sherlock whispered, eyes wide.

Holding John close to his chest, Sherlock could feel the fever burning through the small mans body. It was back and with the weather, their considerable distance to Athens, it had come at the worst time. Sherlock flicked his eyes up to Mycroft and looked deeply worried.

“He has got fever again… I need to go deep into the forest, gather the herbs for medicine.” Sherlock said desperately.

“They do not grow here. We need to take him somewhere safe.” Mycroft replied.

John was moving fitfully, his breathing laboured and his eyes not opening all the way before they fell shut again. Mycroft came to his side to see if he could lend any help, concern etched on his face. Holding John tight, Sherlock kissed the small man’s forehead, intensely worried.

“I can find alternatives. Please… I cannot leave him like this…” Sherlock said, kissing John’s forehead.

“I know…” Mycroft replied, looking down at John, “We need to get him to a temple. We need to push on for Athens.”

Brushing John’s hair back, Sherlock knew Athens would be too far for John in his weakened state. It was too dangerous for them out here.

“Sherlock, he is strong. Athens is our best bet. You must take him on ahead. Gregory and I will follow.” 

“Come with us. There is no reason to wait.” Sherlock replied, not liking the idea of splitting up at all.

“You can run faster in your other form. You can get him to safety faster. While I am on earth I am bound to it.” Mycroft replied.

Nodding in understanding, Sherlock got to his feet and Mycroft took care to bundle John tight in the red cloak to protect him from the weather. Sherlock’s transformation elicited a gasp from Greg as he watched the Demigod shift his form from man into a glorious silver stag that pawed the ground nervously. Rising quickly, Greg hurried to Mycroft’s side to help him bind John to the stag’s back.

Muttering in confusion, John pressed his cheek to the soft pelt at Sherlock’s neck and his eyes fluttered as he was attached to the great creature below him. Mycroft looked at his brother and bowed his head deeply.

“I will give you safe passage. Run hard. Run fast. Selene and Aphrodite are sheltering at Mothers temple, go to them.” Mycroft said, hand on Sherlock’s flank.

Bowing his head back, Sherlock shook his great antlers in understanding. John was covered in Athena’s cloak, bound tight to the stag s he couldn’t fall from his back. Sherlock lent his head over Mycroft’s shoulder for a moment before taking off, fleet of foot, just a silver streak disappearing into the woods. 

Even in this form, it would take him the rest of the day to reach Athens and his Mother’s temple. Moments of lucidity came through the feverish haze John was suffering with, images of water and sky, trees and grass passing them by as Sherlock’s body moved under him fluidly. Mycroft’s blessing marked their path, making it easy to follow through dangerous pathways.

Greg watched the beautiful silver stag streak away through the dense forest and stood beside his God, worry deep in his heart. Taking Greg’s hand gently, Mycroft’s worried face turned to the heavens for a moment and he took a deep breath to centre himself.

“Come, we must continue on the slow path.” he said softly, pulling Greg along at quite the pace.

Following along as best as he could at the hard pace Mycroft was setting, Greg didn’t complain once as they pressed on through the intricate pathway. They pressed on, not knowing that half a day had passed them by, the grim weather taking away their ability to tell the time of day.

As they entered the deepest part of the forest where the trees grew thick together and everything seemed to shine with a deeper shade of green, Greg became aware of others in the forest with them, turning his head just in time to see flickers of movement in the forest beside them as they hurried onward. It became more frequent as they passed on through thickening undergrowth. Flashes of eyes staring at them, the sound of hooves beating beside them, just a flicker of sleek fur and skin. The centaurs had joined them in their plight.

It was just past the sun’s zenith - if they did but know it - when the centaurs finally made contact with the two strangers in their midst’s. A large auburn flanked centaur stood directly in their path, pawing the ground and flicking his tail. Dark red curls hung over his forehead, a well trimmed beard on his pale face and a weathered bow over his shoulder. It was a foreboding sight for any traveller, but for Greg, he didn’t feel a flicker of fear as he faced the creature with his God by his side.

“You have far enough, travellers. You must turn back.” he boomed in a deep, earthy kind of voice.

Mycroft looked from under his hood, having hidden his identity as they moved through into the depths of the forest. He cast his dark grey eyes over the centaur and saw that he was the voice of the tribe, which in a way was like a chieftain.

“I am no simple traveller. Your warning do not worry one such as I. Let us pass, Centaur.” Mycroft said firmly, identity still hidden and his hand tight in Greg’s.

“You are on our land now, Human. You are too close to our foaling grounds. I cannot let you pass. You must take the long way round. We have been gracious, thus far. Do not try our patience.” the centaur replied, stamping the ground.

“I walk where I please,” Mycroft replied, a little smile on his pale face as he kept his head low, “This land belongs to the Gods. You are just its inhabitants.”

The auburn haired centaur snorted, stomping the ground harder, tail flicking in irritation, eyes narrowing to dark slits.

“The Gods have gifted this land to us. We have kept it, tended it. We, alone, remain faithful to the Old Ones. Humankind is turning from the Gods, we can feel it in our bones.” the centaur whispered, voice like ice.

“They are… we thank you for your faithfulness,” Mycroft replied, sweeping his hood back and looking upon the centaur with soft eyes, “You are a shining example to many. Fear not. We are doing everything in our power to save this world.”

Gasping, the centaur raised his head again and shook it, his eyes widening. He bowed deeply and got down low on one knee in penitence. Centaurs and their bloody formalities, Mycroft didn’t have time for this.

“My Lord, my apologies! I did not recognize you!” the centaur said meekly.

“Oh, do get up. Ever bowing and salutations are beginning to wear thin in such a desperate situation,” Mycroft replied, rolling his eyes, “Tell me, Centaur… your people, have they been approached by any such as myself?”

“No, my Lord,” the centaur replied, getting up, “We have been approached by none but you. But we are as ever, faithful at your service.”

“That is good. My consort and I need to travel through your land, it is safer than travelling around. Have you news of a silver stag carrying a human?” Mycroft asked.

Still holding Greg’s hand tightly, Mycroft drew him close to his side, showing the centaur that this one was protected. Looking at Greg and giving him an encouraging smile, Mycroft strode on and the centaur blinked, having to trot to catch up with them, easily falling into step beside Mycroft rather than Greg, not wishing to scare the human. 

Not that Greg was all that scared, more like deeply intrigued by the mystical creature come to life from the myths he’d enjoyed as a child. He could barely stop looking at the centaur, full of awe at its grace, beauty and poise as it moved beside them.

“They came through our land this morning, bound for Athens. We did not stop him. Would it not be better to travel likewise?” the centaur asked, head tilted.

It was incredibly rare for a centaur to offer to carry the burden of a human on its back, but this one seemed to sense the urgency with which the God and human moved. Even Greg knew that from the old tales, that it was a great honour to ride aback a centaur.

“It would be preferable, yes. But you have your ways, my friend. You are proud creatures. I cannot ask that of you. To be cursed to walk on foot is a curse indeed for a God.” Mycroft said silkily.

If the centaur was to offer a helping hand rather than be asked for a favour, then it would make life much easier. Centaurs were notorious for keeping a good track of people who still owed them favours. Especially Gods. 

Tossing his ginger his hair back, the centaur trampled the ground in annoyance and gave a little snort, seeing the Gods cunning. Then a sigh escaped him and he gave a sharp nod, knowing this could mean life or death. Why else would a God be travelling with such haste by foot?

“You do not ask, I offer it freely,” the centaur replied, a hint of annoyance on his face at being conned out of a favour, “You are bound after the stag and for that you need to be much more sure of foot.”

“Good, yes. Then bare myself and my consort and be fleet of foot.” Mycroft replied.

Mycroft looked over at Greg and smiled warmly, kissing the knuckles of his hand as he finally turned his attentions back to him. Greg was still looking at the centaur and pulled his eyes away from it and to his lovers face, his smile bright and warm.

“Are you alright, loved one?” the God asked.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Greg nodded, swallowing thickly.

“Are you sure. You have been so quiet. I worry this is too much for you…” Mycroft whispered, taking both of Greg’s hands.

“There is no time to be unsure. No time to think… it is… overwhelming. But I’ve sworn my fealty to the Gods and I will not waver in my faith now.” 

“I wish things could have been slower for us. For you… but there is no other way we can do this. We must hurry and I am sorry, I am so sorry. But know my love for you is strong.” Mycroft whispered, kissing Greg deeply.

Kissing Mycroft back, Greg found great solace and comfort in the simple connection with his god. Taking a deep breath and smiling bravely, he nodded that he was ready to do this. For Mycroft he could do anything and would do anything.

The auburn centaur had been watching their exchange and when it was over, he let out a trilling whistle that echoed round the clearing they had stopped in, calling another of his kind to come close to offer assistance. 

As the auburn haired centaur bent down, kneeling to make it easier to mount, another centaur appeared. One of dark ebony fur and gleaming chestnut skin, moving forward to kneel with all the grace of a dancer.

Taking a deep breath, Greg mounted the auburn haired centaur, who stood when Greg was comfortably seated on his back. Greg didn’t know where to put his hands, so wound his arms round its torso. He’d never been very good on horseback. 

Mycroft mounted the ebony haired centaur gracefully, reaching out to stroke his hand down Greg’s arm, squeezing his hand gently. With a yip the two centaurs bolted off through the forest, carrying their precious cargo as fast as they could to their destination.


	11. Chapter 11

John was in a bad way by the time Athens pulled into view over the last hill before its great gates, his skin pale and his eyes rolling. From here Sherlock would have to carry him in human form, get him to the temple deep in the heart of the city and to the two Gods seeking shelter within. 

Shifting at the edge of the city, Sherlock lifted John’s limp body into his arms, hushing him as the ill man burbled under his breath. Regardless of his own exhaustion, Sherlock began the last push through the city streets - which were blessedly empty at the late hour. 

Nearly falling up the stairs to his Mother’s temple, Sherlock was red faced and close to collapse as he reached the top of the stairs. He made it to the feet of his mothers statue before dropping heavily to his knees, cradling John’s head so it didn’t hit the glossy marble floor.

Bright eyes had watched them from the shadows of the seemingly abandoned temple. None had come here in such an age, but now there were whispers as the men lay there, one of them clearly very sick and the other exhausted but trying to shrug it off. 

Soft hands pulled the two men apart and they were easily lifted by infinitely strong hands to be brought to rest down on soft, spice scented pillows.

“John… John, my John… you have to… fever…” Sherlock murmured softly as the soft hands took him from his love.

“Rest… he is being tended to, my darling. He is in safe hands now.” whispered a deeply sensual female voice.

“I… I…” stammered Sherlock.

Trying his best to rise from the pillows, Sherlock just fell back with the gentle pressure from the soft skinned hand on his chest, blinking up at the face of the God and recognizing it immediately.

Such beauty shone from the angular features, deep dark eyes and cascading long hair. This was Aphrodite, Irene to those who knew her intimately - of which there were many. She smiled and looked down at Sherlock with smouldering eyes.

“Rest, dear little God. Your human is safe. Once Selene is done, he will be brought to you.” Irene whispered, getting to her feet.

The Goddess was dressed in a beautiful robe that glimmered with small gems, the material just a little too thin to cover her nakedness beneath. Turning to Sherlock, she watched him for a long moment as the Demigod gave a soft moan of discontent, his eyes fluttering closed as he let the exhaustion overtake him, cheeks still flushed from his toil. Irene smiled gently as Sherlock drifted to sleep, almost able to taste the Demigod’s love for the human. It made her heart swell.

Gliding to another side room of the temple where incense burnt, Irene watched a woman with moonlight in her wake work on the human lying on the soft pillows on the floor, administering medicine and dabbing at his head with a cold cloth.

“How is the mortal, Molly dear?” Irene asked, lounging on a pile of cushions and eating from a large bowl of fruit.

Looking sidelong at the reclining elder Goddess, Selene - or rather, Molly - gave a little sad smile. She was just a lesser Goddess and even she was swayed by the beauty of Irene, a blush on her incredibly pale cheeks.

“He is resting, poor dear.” Molly said, turning her attention back to the mortal.

“We should have stayed at my temple…” Irene sighed, stretching out on her cushions gracefully, “It is so boring here. No one to bow to me or scrape for me… no orgies or sounds of orgasm. It is so painfully quiet.”

“Now, now, we must not be ungrateful. After all, Athena has sent her sons to us.”

“One of them… the other one is on his way. I have always wanted to meet the little one. He is rather something. I bet he makes gorgeous sounds.”

“Now, you should let him rest. He has had a long journey.” Molly said, the virgin Goddess blushing at Irene’s words.

“Oh come on,” Irene winked, giving a silvery laugh, “Tell me you have never thought about jumping onto Apollo’s chariot and having a bit of fun.”

“You should not say such things.”

“Come on… you have, have you not?”

Getting to her feet, Irene moved to kneel beside Molly, her elegant fingers stroking through the soft silvery blonde of Molly’s hair. Leaning close, Irene’s lips grazed her ear.

“I bet he is a wonderful shag.” she whispered.

“I do not… I do not… I have not…” Molly stammered.

“I bet you have dreamt about it though.”

“No… I do not think of such things. I must… I must tend to the human. You should check on Sherlock.”

“Oh yes,” Irene chuckled, kissing Molly’s cheek and getting to his feet, “Do not worry. I will definitely ‘check’ on him.”

Flushing again, Molly watched the elder Goddess go before bending back to her task while Irene practically floated to Sherlock’s side. She pressed down on the cushions beside the Demigod, humming as she began to strip him of his filthy and damp clothing. Sherlock was half feverish, his body fighting it off even though he was exhausted. Eyes opening slowly, they were soft and hazy as he focused on the Goddess stripping him of his clothes.

“John… where is John?” he asked weakly.

“He is fine, Sherlock dear. He is being tended to until his fever breaks. My concern is you.” Irene whispered.

Sliding the tunic from Sherlock’s lean and mostly limp body, Irene gave a hum of approval as she gave him a longing look. Not caring at all that he was naked, Sherlock tried to rise again, wanting to get to his partner.

“I want to see him…” he croaked.

“No, no… you need to rest yourself. How about I help you… relax?” Irene whispered.

The Goddess straddled Sherlock’s hips, grinning down at him as she released the pearl choker that held the top half of her dress up. Frowning deeply, Sherlock shook his head, holding Irene’s wrists to stop her from dropping it. 

“I do not need to relax.” Sherlock whispered.

“Yes, you do… you are all… tense.” Irene cooed, pinning Sherlock’s wrists down.

“I am only tense because you are keeping me from John.”

“He can join us later if you like.”

“You do realize, as a Demigod, that I am immune to your charms.”

“Tell that to the flush on your face.” Irene breathed, licking up Sherlock’s cheek.

“Enough.” Sherlock said firmly, pushing back against the hands holding him down.

“Oh, come on. I am so bored.”

“You must be. Your attempt at seduction was clumsy at best, Irene. I have never known you to be so… unsubtle.”

“Things would be different if I were at my own temple. You would be begging on your knees for me.” Irene growled, getting up and moving away.

“You are off your game. Once, you would have been able to seduce me regardless of whether I was man or God, at home or abroad.”

“What the hell did you expect? People are turning away from us by the droves. Even me!” 

Irene flopped down on the cushions in the corner across from Sherlock, screwing his eyes up. Sherlock sat up at last, rubbing a hand through his curls and pulling one of the cushion over his groin as it was never wise to remain so exposed round the God of Desire.

“Not you so much as many of the others. Dionysus seems to have rather a fondness for lust and desire, it seems.” he said softly.

“Yes, he does,” Irene pouted, folding her arms, “But it does not help me. They share in their passions and lustful desires of the flesh in his name. Gods, its been months since I have had any companionship.”

“Next time, try for subtle. Many of the mortals may go for having a God in their lap, but others are not so easily swayed.”

“Yes, well if your desire for the mortal was not so very overpowering… it is so strong,” Irene smiled bitterly and sighed, “While you have been falling in love, I have been stuck here with Miss Virgin Prude…”

“And the attendants of the temple, they have not seen to your needs? Then again, it was once customary that the temple attendants also themselves be virginal by nature.”

“And the women remain so… in a way,” Irene chuckled, biting her lip cheekily, “I need the release. I swear there will be earthquakes and volcanoes if it is not soon.”

“There are many men and women in Athens. Take your pick.”

“It is too dangerous to reveal oneself these days. Dear little Dionysus is making it so difficult.” 

“So do it without revealing yourself? Gods, must I walk you through everything?”

“Listen here, you went behind the ears, mini-God…” Irene snarled, grabbing Sherlock by the curls of his hair. “You know nothing on how I run my temple, so keep your opinions to yourself!”

Sherlock yelped and the hand in his hair brought him crashing back down to his knees, grimacing and wincing in pain.

“See, this is where men should be. At my feet, where they belong. Where are they instead? On their feet with women kneeling before them. All of this is down to him.” Irene spat.

Shoving Sherlock away, Irene began to pace and try to calm herself as best she could. Sherlock hissed and rubbed at his tender scalp, pushing back to his feet and grabbing his grubby tunic to slip it back on. Irene sighed and strode to him, batting his hands away and taking the tunic. Shaking it several times, the dirt faded and the tunic gleamed clean once more as she got him back into it and pulled the red cloak round his shoulders for him.

“He needs to be stopped.” she said very softly.

“Yes, well John must get well first.” Sherlock replied, adjusting his tunic.

“I know. I am sorry.” Irene whispered, resting her head on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Take me to him… please.”

Replacing his gown in place, Irene took Sherlock’s delicately by the arm and lead him to John’s side. The mortal man still looked pale but he was doing much better under the tender care that Molly was giving him. Sinking down beside him, Sherlock stroked his hand over John’s brow and kissed his temple.

“I am here, John. I am here.” he whispered gently.

Irene sat beside Molly and stroked her fingers through her blonde hair tenderly as she watched Sherlock and John. Molly smiled and lent against her, happy for the friendly touch.

John began to stir a little and moaned as he felt a hand on his brow, a kiss on his skin. Eyes fluttering he moved restlessly. Stroking his face, Sherlock was gentle and his eyes we soft with worry as John’s deep blue eyes flicked open, the golden flecks glimmering in the soft torchlight.

“John… my John… are you alright?” he breathed.

“Better…” John whispered weakly, smiling softly at Sherlock.

Irene tiled her head, hair cascading over her shoulder as she watched them hold hands and smile at the sight of each other. She’d not seen such love, desire and passion between two people like this for such a very long time. She could understand how Sherlock had been able to brush off her attempt at seduction now, watching closely as Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and kissed John’s forehead.

“My lovely John… we are in Athens, love. In my Mother’s temple.” he told John, smiling.

“We made it,” John breathed, his lips curling into a smile, “Good… good… I might need to heal some.” John whispered tiredly.

Letting out a few small breaths before slipping back to sleep, John’s hand went loose again in Sherlock’s hand. Setting down with his partner, Sherlock rested John’s head in his lap so he could stroke his hair, whispering softly to him. Soon, his voice fell into a sweet, melodious hum. Smiling in his deep slumber, John held Sherlock’s hand gently, sighing happily as he was soothed by the hand in his hair and the soft voice singing such a beautiful sweet song to him. But Sherlock was tiring, still exhausted from their plight, finding that his eyes were threatening to close despite battling to stay awake to watch over John.

Irene had become bored and was busy stroking at Molly’s neck to gather up her hair and put it into a elaborate style at the back of her head. Molly was striving to ignore the cool, elegant fingers in her hair and brushing her neck. Of course, Irene was still trying to sway Molly to be with her, but dear Molly was too pure, too virginal to be swayed by the Goddess who now had her head on her shoulder.

“You should sleep, Sherlock. Your brother will be here soon enough.” Irene said gently, lounging back on the cushions.

Nodding, Sherlock moved to lie beside John, pulling the mortal into his pale arms and sweeping the red cloak over them to keep them warm. Getting to her feet, Irene took Molly’s hand and drew her from the chamber, closing the drapes to allow the two curled up their privacy.

“Do you think they can do it? Do you think that they can save us? This human and his Demigod? How can we be sure that the time of the Gods is not over…?” Irene whispered, worry on her pretty face.

Entwining her fingers with Irene’s, Molly gave Irene’s hand a little squeeze as they retreated from outside the chamber, soft and reassuring.

“I don’t know,” Molly sighed, chewing her lip, “We can’t know for sure…”

“I am scared for us, for what could happen to us…” Irene replied, looking toward the temple entrance.

“We must have faith. The humans have had faith in us for so long, we have forgotten that they need our faith as well.”

“They have turned their backs on us, my dear. We stand alone, there is only one mortal any of us can put faith in right now and he is ill.”

“Then we must put our faith in him, that he can do great things.” Molly replied, winding her arms round Irene.

“I feel… so weak.” Irene sighed, her eyes closing and her limbs heavy as she rested them around Molly’s hips.

“You should rest… we are all growing weary…”

“I fear I have become much weaker than I thought I would.”

Molly carefully began to guide the Goddess back towards the chambers she had claimed as her own, resting her down on the pillows. Molly helped her pull the pillows around her and got her comfortable, fluffing them as she handed them to Irene.

“Shall I fetch you some wine?” she asked gently.

“Please, my darling.” Irene sighed, closing her eyes for a moment.

Nodding and rose to fetch some of the rich honeyed wine that was used during festivals and had been abandoned when the followers had left the temple. Bringing a gilded goblet back to Irene, Molly settled beside her as the elder Goddess drank deep from the wine.

“I know you do not like me, dear,” Irene said softly, eyes soft as she looked at Irene, “But I must thank you for your company these past few days.”

“Oh no, my Lady,” Molly exclaimed, shaking her head fiercely, “You must not think such things. Of course I like you.”

“I have told you to call me by name, Molly. I see now… there are no elder and lesser Gods. We are all equal. We all have the same job. To protect the mortals.”

“But you… you are on the Council of the Twelve I am just a lesser God.”

“There are no lesser Gods! There should not be Twelve of us. This is how all of this began. If we were not so pig headed then we would never be battling our own kind!”

“Nonsense. There must be order, as there has ever been. It is Dionysus’ fault all this is happening.”

“While he loves the chaos of what he is doing… his heart is the one leading him. His desire. For a mortal man. He is in love.”

“Could he not just go to Zeus? Why must he do all this?”

“Because Zeus refused it. He crushed his heart and so he vowed to crush the heart of Zeus.”

Irene pulled a soft and sorrowful face, a look that would have made mortals weep. Molly ran her hands round the other God, their sorrow shared as one Gods vengeful heart threatened to topple everything they’d ever known and ever sworn to protect. Holding onto the lesser God and screwed her eyes up, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“If I were in Dionysus’ place, I would do the same. Zeus has crushed so many hearts, too many now.” Irene whispered bitterly.

“We must not… we must not speak ill of the great Father.”

“Why must we not,” Irene asked coldly, looking up at Molly, “ How many more hearts must he crush, how many more must he rip in two?”

“But it is he who delivered us from the Titans.” Molly whispered, looking frightened and unsure.

“Tell me, Molly, if you were not scared of what could happen, would you be happier with the knowledge you could take a human as your consort?”

Quiet for a long moment, Molly thought of her beloved Edymion in his eternal sleep, put there by Zeus himself so he might never grow old. He may be immortal, but Molly would never hear him laugh, or see him smile, hear his wonderfully deep voice rumble as he told her how much he loved her. She would never have him hold her to his chest and stroke her hair like he used to, have him kiss her tenderly and lie naked next to her with a vista of stars above their heads. 

Tears began to well up in her eyes and she couldn’t help them break over to flow down her cheeks. How she had begged, how she had pleaded with Zeus to make her lover immortal so they might be together. But he had tricked her, deceived her by putting him in dreamless sleep. It was a fate worse than death and now her heart felt like it was breaking every moment of the day. She spending several nights of the month with her sleeping love, lying on top of him to hold him tight and longing for the arms to reach around her and scoop her up like she were made of nothing more than a birds feather.

“Exactly…” Irene whispered, “Oh my love, come here.”

Watching the clear pain and turmoil that Molly was going through cross her pale face, Irene pulled Molly into her arms in a tight embrace, offering her the edge of her cloak to wipe her tears away. Molly just sobbed softly onto Irene’s shoulder, clinging to the elder Goddess as if she were the last thing keeping her from breaking away from the earth and flying away into oblivion.

“I know how you feel. My Adonis is locked below in the underworld for six months of the year… I miss him and yet Zeus does nothing.” 

Tears of her own beginning to well up, Irene sobbed with Molly and wound her arms tighter around the lesser Goddess, her body shaking violently. Not only was she desperately weak from her worshipers turning their backs on her, she was so very heartsick for her lover. For all of her lovers. They all left her or were taken from her in the end. She felt alone, truly alone.

Molly stroked at Irene’s dark hair. Of course Adonis was the latest in a long line of lovers, but Molly could still understand the pain she was going through. A pain she shared with the elder Goddess.

“What can we do?” she whispered, her voice raw.

“We must talk to Hermes…” Irene whispered.

Wiping away Molly’s tears tenderly, Irene composed herself and wiped her own tears away with the back of her hand, rubbing away any trace of them bar the puffy red of her eyes and cheeks.

“What of John and Sherlock?” Molly whispered, nodding.

“They need their rest. But we must build a council to confront Dionysus and his lover. Somewhere safe and neutral. He has the right to speak his mind too.”

Resting back on the soft pillows, Irene gave a great sniff and rubbed at her face with both elegant hands to rub the last few tears away from her face.

“What I would do for one kiss of my lovers lips.”

“I know, I know…” Molly said, stroking Irene’s hair.

“The others are nothing compared to my Adonis… how I love him.”

Molly fell quiet and just stroked Irene’s hair. It was like silk and Molly was slightly jealous of it, the way it seemed to go on forever and never got knotted and tangled. In truth, Irene was rather jealous of Molly’s, the way it shone with a silver glow that gave her a perfect halo. Sniffing, Molly thought of her Endymion and fell silent for a long time.

“I would give up my place on the Twelve for Adonis.” Irene whispered.

“As would I… as would we all.”


	12. Chapter 12

The ride to Athens was hard, even clinging to the Centaur’s waist, the creatures arms holding onto their riders legs lest they fall. Of course the rain was still falling, making their hard ride miserable and cold. Not once did the Centaurs complain, but Greg couldn’t help but grumble about the weather and the mud that spattered him and the bitter cold that froze him to the bone.

Dismounting at the gates of the city, Mycroft and Greg found them unguarded, the posts abandoned by the soldiers. Entering cautiously, they kept on the alert as they began to push on through the grand city. Not that it seemed grand now, having become a den of debauchery and lust. 

Mycroft gasped as they walked through the main street of the city, holding Greg tight to his side as they headed further into the city. There were drunkards in the streets, yelling and slumped in doorways, too drunk to remember the way home. Bare chested women were stood along the streets offering themselves for money and in some cases for free. The God was in shock, wanting to turn away, to turn his back on the city and make for somewhere where he didn’t feel as if the very air was tainted.

“This is complete madness…” he whispered to his lover.

Nodding, Greg pulled Mycroft just as tight to him, arm round his waist as they picked their way through the streets towards the great marble temple of Athena that loomed over the once proud city.

“I have never felt so hopeless in these streets.” Mycroft whispered.

They passed a large white house with its doors thrown open. It must have been some kind of tavern as there came a smell of wine and mead, a party going on above them on the roof, moaning coming from the lower rooms. There was a yell and an old man with a bloody cut on his head yelled after a lithe figure who ran from the street, coin purse clutched tight in one hand and bloody knife in the other.

“Come on, we are nearly there.” Greg said, resting his hand on his sword.

Nodding, they stole their way through the night time streets, running up the many steps to the temple. Mycroft smiled as they reached the top, resting his hands on the base of the statue of his mother as the silver owl from the woods alighted on the statues shoulder, bowing his head to it before heading deep into the temple.

It seemed eerie without the great cauldrons lit, with such a heavy silence hanging over it. Mycroft waved his hands and light burst into the cauldrons, the soft flickering easing his nerves. He called out softly, his voice echoing off every surface, making it sound louder than it was.

Sherlock blinked softly, hearing the call of his brother’s voice, asking if he was there. Wearily pushing himself up, he peered out through the gap in the drapes to see Mycroft and Greg walk through into the great temple and illuminate it with flickering light. John was still feverish and he continued his sleep as Sherlock smoothed the blonde hair from his brow, kissing his cheek.

“Sleep, love… it is not time for you to wake.” he whispered to a still sleeping John.

Irene rose from the pillows as she heard Mycroft’s call for a second time, her eyes ablaze as she got to her feet. Greg gasped as he looked up at the two Goddesses coming towards him, almost blinded by Aphrodite’s beauty as she glided along the marble floor towards them with Selene in her wake.

“Hermes… you have brought a human consort with you. This should make things easier…” Irene grinned.

Never breaking her gait, she walked round Greg and trailed her fingers over the mortals body, looking him up and down with a little smile on her ruby red lips. Greg could feel a flush rise on his cheeks, the tips of his ears already bright red as Aphrodite’s hand drifted along his shoulders and down his chest. Mycroft’s face twitched and he very nearly snarled in annoyance at her touching his blessed one. Shifting closer to Mycroft, Greg put stop to the contact before the Gods started to fight. It wouldn’t be a good idea to have the temple roof crushing down on them.

“We need to talk to you. Do we not, Molly, dear?” Irene smiled, resting her hands on Molly’s shoulders.

“About what?” Mycroft asked, quirking an eyebrow then narrowing his eyes.

Molly found herself blushing lightly, faintly embarrassed to speak up in the presence of two of the Twelve now, looking up to Irene to speak for her. Mycroft had turned his steel grey eyes to Molly who flushed all the more and looked down at her feet.

“Molly, use your voice. It has as much weight as mine… especially in this situation. Do it for your love.” Irene said, giving her a bright smile of encouragement.

Lifting her eyes back up to Irene, Molly turned to Mycroft, looking at him with bright and wide eyes, looking painfully innocent.

“We were… speaking of circumstances which have led to Dionysus’ treason… or our great father and his refusal to acknowledge our human consorts.” she said, her voice almost a whisper but as clear as a bell.

“Who is it this time Irene?” Mycroft asked, voice like acid.

“The man I love more than being a god.” Irene snarled.

The two elder Gods drew themselves up to their full height and snarled at each other like wild animals, eyes ablaze as if the two of them might start throwing balls of flame at each other at any moment. Molly stomped her foot firmly and pouted, frowning deeply.

“It is not just Lady Aphrodite who is affected! My own lover, Edymion, sleeps forever as our father would not grant him immortality. Dionysus and his lover, you and yours. How many more will it take before he sees?” Molly snapped.

Mycroft was so shocked by the pure, virginal being stood before him, speaking with a voice that sounded so unlike the meek one she had been using just a moment ago. The change in the tiny Goddess really shook him, even more so with the stomping of his foot, which he didn’t see as petulance, but pure frustration and annoyance. A shiver ran down the Gods back and he held Greg’s hand tightly, dropping his eyes to the floor. Greg felt rather out of place in this discussion, but stood firm by his Gods side.

“I know…” Mycroft whispered at last, lifting his sorrow filled eyes to the Goddesses before him, “But who are we to contest Zeus?”

“And who is he to tell us who we can and cannot love?” Molly asked, a hard fire burning behind her soft, unassuming eyes.

Irene’s own eyes widened a little at the tiny Goddess and her boldness. Flicking her eyes to Mycroft’s face she gave him a soft gaze, needing his guidance. Clearing his throat, Mycroft flicked his eyes from Molly to Irene, looking a little lost. It made her heart sink like a stone.

“So, what do we do? Do we take side with Dionysus and be struck down where we stand?” Mycroft asked, his voice as small as Molly’s had been.

“I do not…” Molly blinked and drew back just a little, “I do not know.”

“We should talk to Dionysus and his consort at least.” Irene shrugged.

Holding Molly’s hand and squeezing it to reassure her that she had done the right thing by letting her emotions out. Squeezing it back, Molly smiled ever so slightly at the Goddess beside her.

Sherlock had been listening with eager ears to the conversation between the Gods, his back resting against the marble of the huge statue of his mother at the back of the temple. He revealed himself from the shadows, his head held high as he stepped out, giving them quite the shock.

“Regardless of how we may feel about how Dionysus has been treated, what has been done is wrong. Mankind is failing, faithless, away from the Gods, led at Dionysus’ hand. He cannot be allowed to continue.” he said, his voice strong.

Irene turned swiftly, her robes ruffling round her with unseen wind, fixing him with her blazing gaze, eyes a little narrowed.

“Sherlock, they need guidance. The only one who can bring them back to us is Dionysus himself and the only way he will release them is when his love is immortal and by his side forever. Do you not see that?” she asked.

“It is not the only way… we have John.” Sherlock said, face firm.

“It could be that he could bring enough of the followers back to our mother to attempt a connection with the heavens to seek a council with Zeus.” Mycroft said with a nod, licking his lips.

“I believe that is the best option. We must try to bring the people of Athens back to the Gods and then we must find Dionysus and convince him to seek council with us.” Sherlock agreed, looking back at John through the drapes.

“You know he does not deserve punishment, but he will get it if Zeus is too blind or stupid to see.” Irene replied, huffing a breath.

“That is not my concern.”

“No, the human you protect is,” she whispered, snapping just a little, “You do this for him too.”

“Yes,” Sherlock growled, “Yes, it is John that is my concern. Everything else comes second.”

“His heart could save us all our hearts.” Irene said softly, giving Sherlock a gracious little bow.

Mycroft nodded in agreement with Irene and smiled faintly. Molly also smiled as Sherlock looked at each of them in turn, before returning back to John’s side. John had been listening of course and he smiled as Sherlock joined him, taking his lovers hand and hold it as tight as he could in his horribly weak state.

“They are right. No one deserves punishment for following their heart and falling in love.” he said softly, voice gravely.

“Regardless, he has done far too much damage to go completely unpunished.” Sherlock said, wrinkling his nose.

“That is your view. You are telling me you would not do the same for me?”

“No, I would not. I would simply leave Olympus for you. Other Gods be damned.”

“Others do not do have that option. What about Mycroft and Greg,” John whispered, looking Sherlock dead in the eye, “Love is the strongest thing on this earth, even on Olympus.”

“What would you have me do?” Sherlock asked, frowning softly, looking lost and confused.

“Kiss me.” John whispered.

Looking up into Sherlock’s eyes, John smiled and stroked the Demigods cheek tenderly. Nodding, Sherlock dipped in to close his lips over John’s pale ones.

“Stay by my side. Every step of the way… even if I go up before Zeus himself.” John whispered, trying to get up even though he could barely lift his limbs.

“Every step of the way, I’ll be at your side,” Sherlock said, soothing John back to the pillows, “You must rest love.”

“I must get on my feet, at my Gods need me.”

“No, John, it can wait another day, you must get well… for me, love… please.”

“Then you have to speak for me to them. Tell them that my intention us to speak with Zeus on behalf of you all, for love. My aim is to have Dionysus have his love forever, for his punishment to be in service of the people rather than to be cast down.”

“Of course… tomorrow, we will begin… today, just rest at my side, my love. My John.”

“Tell them, my love…” John breathed, his head rocking back to one side as he slipped back to sleep.

Kissing the side of John’s head, Sherlock soothes his partner back down and nuzzled against him, hiding his face away in John’s neck, still worried and deeply concerned. Irene came to Sherlock’s side, stroking John’s hair gently and kissing his forehead.

“He spoke to you… what is to be done?” she asked, worry on her face.

Tucking the cloak of Athena securely around his partner, Sherlock sighed and looked up at Irene, glad for her company really. It listened the worry he felt a little.

“He intends to speak to Zeus. To try and persuade the God himself that Dionysus must be allowed his love.” Sherlock said softly.

“Good. That is good.”

Irene began to tend to John, wiping his brow with a cool cloth and doing everything she could to make him comfortable. It was an odd thing for her to be doing, but she could see that Sherlock needed the rest himself. Sherlock looked from John back to Irene and rested a hand light on her arm.

“Thank you.” he said softly.

“It is nothing. He carries the fate of my love. It is the least I can do.” Irene whispered.

Nodding, Sherlock stroked at the gorgeous golden hair atop John’s head, still feeling intensely exhausted himself. He was more than happy for the help that Irene was lending him to tend to John as his fever broke.

“You should rest, Sherlock. Sleep. You are safe here.” Irene said softly.

Getting to her feet, Irene left Sherlock and John’s side to let the exhausted travellers get the rest they dearly needed. She turned her attentions back to Greg and Mycroft, turning back just for a moment to watch Sherlock snuggle into John’s side and fall asleep once more.


	13. Chapter 13

Greg was completely exhausted, the hard toll of the last few days making his head buzz. Greg was sat beside Mycroft on a stone bench as the God sipped from a goblet of wine in silence. The mortal rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. Everything had happened so bloody fast these past few days, and here he was… rather suddenly in Athens, in the company of the Gods.

Coming to sit beside Greg on the bench, Irene took the mortals hand and pulled him slightly away from Mycroft, who gave her a warning look. Rolling her eyes a little bit, she slid her hands onto the mortal man’s shoulders to massage them, the tension so tight in them she believed that she might just be able to feel it herself. Greg had frowned at being pulled from Mycroft, but couldn’t help relaxing with the firm finger massaging his shoulders.

“Gods…” he whispered, humming in satisfaction.

Irene gave a delicate sniff and licked her lips very slowly as she turned her pretty eyes slowly to Mycroft, a smile breaking over her face that made it shine with beauty.

“You have indulged.” she whispered, grinning wider.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and got to his feet to kneel at the feet of his mothers statue, ignoring Irene as best he could. Greg blushed, wanting to go to him, but he was pinned in place with the Goddess of Love and Beauty herself rubbing the tension from his shoulders. It was nearly too much for him to bare. Chuckling, Irene turned her attention to running her nimble fingers over Greg’s neck.

“I know where you were truly headed, pilgrim. To my own temple.” she whispered into Greg’s ear.

“Yes, my Lady.” Greg flushed, lowering his eyes and biting his lip softly.

“And what were your intentions when you arrived at my temple?”

“I just… wanted my heart to stop hurting…”

“You did not need me for that. It just so happened you had someone else looking after your heart. What were you intending to do? Take one of the women at my temple? To swear yourself to me?”

“I… I only meant to journey to pray to you for solace…”

The journey had been undertaken to clear his head and that once he had knelt in the temple of Aphrodite, the Goddess might heal his heart, he’d not thought of anything more than that. 

“I would have healed that heart… given you your desire. A beautiful and faithful woman to bare your children.”

Irene began to trace her fingers over the skin above Greg’s heart and Greg shivered under the Goddesses fingers on him, his eyes closing. The idea of a woman to bare his children no longer seemed appealing. Not when he had Mycroft at his side. He realized that he would easily give up everything in his mortal life to follow his patron. Irene gave Greg a bright smile and looked at him with warm eyes, pressing her lips to Greg’s as if she could steal some of the essence of what they had.

“Good man. You truly love him… good.” she whispered.

“Yes… yes, I love him.”  
“Oh yes… definitely… I can see it all over you. Oh… I have not seen that for a long time. It makes me ache.” she breathed, kneeling in front of him and resting in his arms.

Greg was at complete odds, unsure of himself and what to do with the Goddess of Love and Beauty kneeling before him. His cheeks began to flush with a bright red glow. Irene just settled in his arms better, flicking her hair over her shoulder and looking up at him with smouldering eyes. 

In seconds, Mycroft was beside Irene, his eyebrow quirked as if waiting for an explanation. Regardless of the smoulderingly intensity of the Goddess before him, Greg’s eyes were drawn to Mycroft and he couldn’t help but smile up to the God that had his heart. Smiling back, Mycroft rolled his eyes a little bit.

“Are you that in need, Irene?” he asked with sigh.

Looking up at Mycroft, Irene seemed to sag, looking desperately weary. Even her glow seemed to falter. Greg continued to look up at his God and then looked back down at Irene. She looked so very tired and so strangely mortal.

“Apologies… I should… I should leave you with your lover.” Irene sighed, shaking her head. 

Irene got gracefully to her feet and almost collapsed as she moved away, caught by Mycroft arms before she could hit the ground. Greg was up on his feet in a second, concern wrinkling his brow.

“Is she alright?” he asked, eyes wide.

“A Goddess of Love who has seen none for a long time? She is growing weak…” Mycroft replied.

Looking down at Irene, the Goddess made little sounds of discontent in her throat, eyes beginning to flutter closed. Greg looked at her and chewed her lip as Mycroft had to lift her up into his arms properly.

“Can you not do anything for her?” Greg whispered.

“There is, but he will not do it.” Irene whispered, resting her head back on Mycroft’s arm.

“Surely there must be something…” 

“If someone was to make love to me…” Irene sighed, managing to get to her feet and shaking her head, “I am fine now.”

Walking away from the God and his consort, she straightened her back lifting her head high to walk gracefully to Molly’s side. Greg turned to Mycroft, his brow furrowed in concern for the Goddess.

“Can we not… um… find someone to share her bed?” Greg asked.

“Now we are here, we cannot risk leaving the temple.” Mycroft replied.

The both of them gasped as Irene nearly fell, but Molly was there to hold up the stumbling Goddess to take her to her chambers. Huffing, Greg’s own natural need to protect was magnified tenfold by the blessing of his God and he looked round, as if the temple itself could hold some sort of answer.

“If she is not given the love she needs…” Mycroft whispered, breaking off and shivering.

His eyes slipped shut and a cold shiver ran down his spine at the thought of what would happen to the beloved Goddess. It was worse than death and there was nothing that could be done for her.

“Could one of the temple attendants see to her?” Greg asked desperately.

Typically, the attendants lived just outside the main temple, sweeping and taking care of it, replenishing the oil for the lanterns and took care of any pilgrims who came to the temple for prayer. But by the state of the floor and the thin layer of dust, there had been no humans here for days.

“Look at this place, Gregory. Do you think any attendants have been here?” Mycroft replied, shaking his head, “You think that they would find two women living in here if they were doing their job.”

“So what should we do?”

“Do you know what will happen to her soon?”

“I do not…”

“Her skin will become hard, her body stiff until all that remains is marble.” Mycroft whispered, eyes infinitely sad.

“We cannot…” Greg whispered, his face paling, “We have to help her, Mycroft!”

“There is only one way.”

Greg began to flush brightly and chewed his lip, worrying at it until it began to bleed a little. Mycroft was not in anyway bound to him, there was no reason why he should be upset if the God required this of him. Looking up at Greg deep into his hazel eyes, Mycroft let out a gentle breath that washed over the mortal.

“I love you, Gregory. You are the reason that I am not like her. You are the reason that I am strong. Help her…” he said softly, pained to have to ask this of his lover.

Greg looked up, his dark eyes on Mycroft’s. He could see the pain and understood that the God wanted to be selfish and keep him all for himself. But this was very important, this was a matter of life and death. Giving a little nod and lifted his hand to caress Mycroft’s cheek before following the Goddess to her chambers. Hurrying after Greg, Mycroft pulled him back and kissed him deeply for a moment, embracing him tightly.

“You are still mine…” he said, feeling he had to say it to reassure them both.

Taking Greg’s hand, he walked with him to Irene’s side. Molly looked up as they approached the sweet smelling chambers and smiled sadly, stroking Irene’s dark hair. Taking Irene’s hand, Mycroft gasped at how cold and stiff it felt, it was already happening.

“Irene, darling loved one of the Gods… Gregory is here for you.” he said softly.

“I cannot ask that of you, Mycroft.” Irene said, shaking her head.

“It is alright, Milady.” Greg whispered, going to her side.

Irene looked up at Greg, half lying in Molly’s lap, far too weak to hold herself up. Watching Greg closely, she gasped as he stroked through her hair, down over her neck and along the curve of her angular collarbone. Licking her lips she hummed as the fingers brought warmth to her freezing skin. Resting a hand on Greg’s chin the Goddess smiled.

Running his arms around the freezing Goddess, Greg lifted her up into his arms and carried her to the rear of the temple, away from prying eyes. She was so very cold against the warmth of his body, it made him shiver. Limp in his arms, Irene let out a little breath, never having felt so horrifically weak.

It was alright for Mycroft, he had this one faithful to him, Molly still had her worshippers who prayed to her for a healthy birth for their child. Irene had no one left. 

Resting her down on the pile of cushions in the smaller chamber, he lay beside her, barely able to believe that this was happening. Nerves were beginning to writhe in the pit of his stomach as he looked into the face of ultimate beauty.

“May I kiss you, my Lady?” Greg asked gently.

“If this is what you wish to do, then yes…” Irene breathed, moistening her lips.

Running a hand over the Goddess’ cheek and back into her dark hair, Greg closed her eyes to dip in and close his mouth over hers with a soft sigh. Running his arm round her, Greg pulled Irene flush against his body. Irene was a tender kisser, hand resting on the back of his neck as she felt his strong, warm body pressing against his. It reminded her of her Adonis.

Greg deepened the kiss slowly, his hands caressing over the lines of her back, over the soft dip of her waist, the gentle curve of her hips. Irene let the hands wander and rested her hands, splaying over Greg’s strong shoulders. Pulling back just a little, Greg’s soft hands undid and slid underneath the thin robes and gasped at the softness of Irene’s skin. It was like the finest silk and he just had to kiss down Irene’s neck, relishing the softness of it.

Long elegant fingers curled into Greg’s hair and Irene shed her gown, pulling him down as she felt strength returning to her limbs at last, the pale skin beginning to flush with colour. Moaning at the response, Greg pulled her roughly against him again and ran his hands eagerly over the now bare skin. Up over ribs and towards her breasts, thumbing under the curve of one of them. Grinning happily, Irene had the tunic off Greg quickly, very nearly tearing it from him. 

“You are very handsome,” Irene whispered, letting out a breath and running her hands down his chest, “Even as unblessed you were handsome…”

“Thank you, my Lady…” Greg whispered back.

“Do not call me that…” 

Flushing softly, Greg moved his hand up to cup her small but ample breasts, thumbs rolling over her nipples to tease them into hardness. The dusky nubs of flesh stood erect under his thumbs and Irene practically quivered under him, a light flush on her cheeks and red seeping back into her lips. Gods, she was more beautiful than Greg could put into words. Simply gorgeous, every inch of her.

“And why not,” Greg asked, busy kissing Irene’s collarbone, “What should I call you then?”

“By my name…” Irene breathed.

Reaching down, Irene skated her hands over Greg’s lower back and squeezing at his tight buttocks with a moan, her thumbs stroking his bronzed skin. Nipping at her collarbone, he kissed down between her breasts and looked into her eyes.

“Which one? Aphrodite? Cytherea? Irene? Cypris?” he asked with a smirk.

“Whichever takes your fancy…” Irene grinned.

The colour was returning to her now, Greg’s lips travelling over her soft skin leaving a flush behind, her thighs squeezing him a little. Holding Irene up so her back arched delicately, Greg’s tongue licked over soft skin, travelling in a firm circle before finding a nipple and beginning to suck it firmly. Moaning, Irene arched her back more for him and the sound of her moan made the colours of the pillows brighten, the gold around them seeming to glitter all the more. The moan spurred Greg on, kissing across to the other nipple as a hand ran down the flat of her belly, over the wing of her hip so caress the smooth skin of the front of one thigh.

Irene gasped gently and her hands found the soft hair at the base of Greg’s skull, stroking through it and gently tugging every now and then, but mostly making swirled patterns in it with the tip of her finger. Dipping back down to her mouth, Greg kissed her deeply as he settled his hand between her thighs to tease at the Goddess. The fingers in his hair tightened and Irene broke the kiss to look into Greg’s eyes, to let him see the effect he was having on her. The way her cheeks flushed red, the way her eyes slipped in and out of fine focus. Greg’s free hand roamed up into her hair and he rubbed her firmly with two fingers.

“Beautiful, beautiful Goddess…” he breathed, grinning confidently.

Breath catching in her throat, Irene’s hips jerked a little bit and she parted her legs wider, moaned louder as she dragged Greg down to desperately kiss him again, her body undulating under him like a rippling wave. Kissing back just as hard, Greg pushed down, hard from her moans.

Grinning, Irene grabbed Greg and spun him over easily as if he weighed nothing and pushed down on top of him with another moan. Arching up against her, Greg let himself get pinned, who was he to contradict the will of a Goddess?

“I prayed to you… when my heart was broken and hurting, I prayed to you for solace. In my lonely nights, I imagined you.” Greg admitted.

“You did not imagine me,” Irene replied with a silky laugh, “I could hear your calls for me and I came to you. As I do to all of those who call for me in their times of need.”

“You soothed me, in my time of need… it is time I returned the favour.”

Greg had flushed rather brightly as he remembered some of the very vivid ‘dreams’ that he had shared with her. He moved his hand to rub his thumb over the most sensitive part of her, getting a moan out of those red lips. Her hips rocking over him, Irene looked down at Greg. 

The dreams she had shared with this one had served a purpose and had been much more intimate than with others. His heart had been broken and shattered into pieces. She could see that he was sick at heart and close to death as it broke clean in two. She had to save him, she had to keep his destiny intact to get him to Mycroft.

Leaning up to capture those ruby red lips on his own, Greg nipped and sucked at her full lower lip as he teased her, taking time to draw out her pleasure for her to get full benefit of it. Each breath leaving the Goddess looked like a glimmering cloud of gold and silver as it passed between the red of her lips.

“Become part of me.” she requested in a smooth whisper.

“Yes… my beautiful Goddess…” Greg whispered, flushing.

Pulling his fingers away from her, Greg stroked himself and flipped them over again so he could arch against her and pressed firmly, slowly into her to join them together. Cheeks flushing, Irene’s back arched, her breasts pressing up against his chest. 

“My beautiful Aphrodite… lovely, lovely Irene…” 

Greg let his hips roll against hers, slow and sensuous, thumb falling back between her legs to rub in slow circles while the Goddess rocked against him, the noises leaving her like the strangest and most beautiful music.

“Oh… brave warrior…” Irene breathed, pulling Greg down to kiss him deeply.

Grabbing one leg, Greg pushed the lean limb up so he could thrust deeply into her, drawing a steady litany of moans from Irene. Her glow was beginning to encompass Greg, overtaking him and he was lost in the bliss of her skin, her lips, her hands, her scent. Irene’s skin was shining with an odd ethereal light as her breathing became faster and her hands tightened on Greg’s biceps as his hips began to snap, pulling her close.

“By the Gods…” Greg cursed.

Irene was panting and her cheek was pressed against Greg’s, panting down his ear and going limp as she began to lose herself to the feeling. Greg could feel her beginning to quiver and tighten around him and his cheeks flushed red, his hips thrown out of rhythm.

“Beautiful Goddess… ahh…”

Burying his face against Irene’s neck, Greg abandoned himself, his seed spilling inside her as he shuddered to his climax. The Goddess’s body pulsed under his and she let her head fall back, a breath of golden shimmer leaving her parted lips as she dropped down to the pillows, boneless and sedated. Nuzzling into Irene’s neck, Greg panted as he let his forehead rest on her collarbone while he caught his breath, absently kissing her golden skin for a moment. 

When Irene opened her eyes, her breath was gentle and soft, her smile bright as she looked at Greg. She looked so joyful and full of life, a massive change to the pale being she had been before. She now seemed to glow with an internal light that made her skin golden. Greg ran his hand against her jaw then back through her deep chestnut hair.

“You are so very beautiful…” he whispered, eyes only for her.

“So is your Hermes. You were doing me a service, Gregory. Go to your God.” Irene breathed, loving the soft touched but knowing it was all so fleeting.

“Of course…” Greg said softly, kissing her again, “I love him… but you are dear to my heart, my Lady.”

“I should not be,” Irene pushed Greg away a little, “Go to your God.”

Nodding, Greg got up and pulled his tunic back on hurriedly, striding to the entrance of the chamber and pulling the drape back. He smiled and gave Irene a last fleeting glance over his shoulder before leaving to return to Mycroft, his cheeks pink. Irene watched after him and sighed, resting her head back on the pillows to let herself drift awhile.


	14. Chapter 14

Out of the chamber, Greg found it easier to walk away, no longer under the Goddess’ influence as he entered another set of chambers that Mycroft had claimed as his own. Mycroft was sat reading from an old tome and he rose to his feet when Greg pulled back the drapes and stepped inside. Getting to his feet, Mycroft took Greg’s hand, still able to smell Irene and her seduction on him.

“Does your love still lie with me?” he asked, looking deep into Greg’s eyes.

“Of course it does.” Greg replied, gazing back softly.

Mycroft tilted his head a little and nodded it a little, smiling softly he stroked Greg’s cheek with his long, pale fingers. Greg moved to take the God in his arms, his movements soft and gentle.

“My heart belongs to you.” Greg assured the God.

“Many who have shared in the delights of the Goddess do not return to the one they love. Come… come and bathe.”

Taking Mycroft’s hand, Greg allowed himself to be drawn from the chamber into the main body of the temple. The both of them fell quiet at a soft noise at the front of the temple, bare feet on marble and little unsure breaths. Mycroft swept his cloak over his head and hid his face away, not wanting to scare the mortal woman. The young woman was stood at the entrance of the temple with long red hair up in an elaborate bun at the back of her head, her robes well kept and neat against her pale skin. Her hands were clasped together, twisting together nervously. 

“Oh, I am so sorry… is the temple closed?” she asked in a soft voice.

“No, do come in. The Lady Athena welcomes you.” Mycroft said softly. 

Nodding her head, the young woman moved further into the temple, her eyes flicking over the two men before her and the ones just visible resting in a side chamber. She moved forward to the statue of Athena and bowed very low before the Goddess.

“I did not know any of the faithful were left in this city.” she said gently, looking up at the face of Athena.

“What has brought you to worship today, young one?” Mycroft asked, smiling broadly.

“I pray only for this city, that we might find our way back to the Goddess who has watched over us.”

Mycroft looked up at Greg and grinned wide at him, letting out a little breath. Even when it all felt hopeless, the mortals still surprised him after all these years. He stepped forward and rested his hand on her shoulder gently..

“It will come to pass, this storm and the sins of the people will all be in the past. Your arrival gladdens our hearts.” Mycroft said gently.

“I am glad to see that some of the faithful remain… I am Kate.” said she with a smile on her face.

Tilting his head Mycroft looked into the woman’s heart and found that it was very pure, a faithful follower of the Gods. He took his hood down and looked into her eyes, not needing to introduce himself to her. Kate’s eyes went wide with shock and she immediately bowed her head respectively, her cheeks ruddy.

“My Lord, Hermes, I did not expect to see you here!” she gasped.

“My mother will welcome you with open arms, you are needed more than ever dear follower.” Mycroft said lifting her head gently.

Kate smiled brightly up at the great God and was very happy to be in the God’s favour. She felt her cheeks redden and she wanted to look away, but the God was captivating,

Stretching and yawning wide, Irene wafted out into the open area of the temple, her robe draped over her loosely as she strode towards them. Her skin gleamed golden with light and she looked stunning in the low light of the temple.

“What is all this commotion?” she asked, pouting a little.

Kate gasped as she looked sideways at the new voice to find the most radiant being she had ever seen in her entire life striding towards them. The glowing Aphrodite in her presence! Truly she was blessed to be in the presence of two high Olympians!

“My Lady…” she whispered, bowing to Aphrodite deeply.

“Goodness, another mortal… we do rather have them coming out of our ears. Where on earth has Molly got to? The dear was so upset, I do hope you have not left her to weep alone.” Irene sighed, walking round the woman with eyebrow quirked.

Kate lifted her eyes briefly to the Goddess to sneak another look at the beautiful Goddess who was now walking around her in a close circle, her cheeks flushing again. Smiling, Irene pressed her hand to Kate’s cheek and hummed as she lifted the mortals head to look at her properly, looking deep into her eyes.

“You are an attendant at my temple. One of the faithful. But you have turned from me and come to Athena.” she smiled, stroking Kate’s red curls.

“No, my Lady, I never turned from you… my mother is here, she was ill. I had to come and see to her. But never, never was I unfaithful to you.” Kate flushed lightly.

“I do not blame you for ceasing your prayers to me. Do not be so easily offended, my darling.”

“I still thought of you often, my Lady. I had intended to return to your temple before… before the people began to turn from the Gods.”

“No matter. As you can see, I am no longer there.”

Irene stroked the red of Kate’s cheek and the mortal woman pressed into the touch, gasping as she felt the Goddess’ body press against her own. Mycroft took Greg by the hand and took him towards the pool to bathe, leaving the Goddess and follower to their own devices.

Smiling, Irene took Kate’s hand and drew her to her own chambers that she had claimed for her own, the heat from Irene and Greg’s time together still warming it. A silver and golden miasma hovered around the ceiling from all the panting the Goddess had been doing like thick incense smoke that swirled and churned as the two women walked through it. To Kate, it was almost intoxicating, her pupils dilating and a soft heady bliss settling under her skin, making her move slowly as if through a dream.

“Be seated. Tell me… how is my temple? I miss it greatly.” Irene sighed, sitting Kate on silken cushions and offering wine.

Resting down on the cushions, Kate lay on her side, the slit up the side of her tunic exposing the length of one milky white thigh. She made no move to cover it as she normally would, too comfortable to move as she took the offered wine with a small dip of her head.

“I do not know how it has been since the people have begun to turn,” Kate replied softly, “But when I was there last it was still… beautiful, lovely, a haven of love and beauty.”

“It will be nothing to fix anything broken or stolen. At least you are still faithful, my dear Kate.” Irene smiled.

Brushing her fingers slowly up the exposed skin of Kate’s thigh, the virgin flesh soft and warm under her hand. Kate gave the Goddess a soft little smile, her cheeks beginning to flush. Sworn into the service of Aphrodite, Kate had remained intact, still unknown in the pleasures of the flesh, she was still young with the roundness of youth in her cheeks, but the curves were that of a woman’s body.

“I will always be faithful to you.” Kate said softly.

“Yes, you will,” Irene whispered, hand moving under the fabric of Kate’s tunic to rest on her hip, “I must thank you for that, Kate. It makes my heart… swell.”

Flushing softly, Kate gave a soft inhale of breath as the Goddess’ hand slipped over her skin to the angular protrusion of her hip. She didn’t protest though, just inclined herself more readily in the service of her Lady. 

“You are inexperienced in the pleasures of the flesh… I am surprised. There are so many of my followers who take advantage of being in my service.” Irene said softly.

“I swore myself to service of you, my Lady. You come above all others. Maidens of the temple are supposed to be sworn from pleasures of the flesh.” Kate replied breathlessly.

“And not a single on of them are. But you… you are the purest of my Maidens…”

Looking into Kate’s eyes, Irene smiled and Kate looked softly back at the Goddess, giving a soft smile as she drank deep of the wine in her hand. Smiling, Irene took the goblet from Kate and set it aside.

“My darling, you are the most worthy of my blessings. Even past my darling Adonis…” Irene whispered.

“Oh no, my Lady… I have done nothing worthy of your blessings, I am just a mortal.” Kate muttered, eyes going wide.

“You have remained pure in a den of debauchery. But you must understand that a mortal like you is more than worthy…”

“But you have your love, your Adonis.”

“But he is just a man. He knows nothing on what really pleases a woman. I love him with all my heart, but I only see him six months of the year.”

“But I know nothing of what pleases a woman either, my Lady.” Kate flushed, biting her lip.

“You have never touched yourself when you bathe?” Irene asked, giving a silky laugh.

Irene lifted her hand gently to pull away the pretty golden clasp holding Kate’s hair in its bun away. The soft red hair tumbled down over her shoulders, bouncing over her soft skin, the beads skilfully woven throughout it glinting brightly. Shaking her head, Kate’s cheeks began to shine pink and Irene giggled a little at how naïve this one was. 

Soft hands worked on the clasp of white fabric of the mortals tunic, gently stripping her of the soft material. Kate sucked in a little breath, her hand still on the shoulders of the Goddess, not fussing or fidgeting as she relaxed and trusted the Goddess. Confronted by all the pale and soft skin before her, Irene let out a small breath, biting her lip.

“Have you ever been kissed?” Irene asked softly.

“No, my Lady.”

Letting out a little giggle again, she leaned forward and brushed her ruby lips against Kate’s slightly pale ones. Her skin brushed against the mortals as she began to remove her own gown too. Sighing against the Goddess’ lips, Kate’s eyes slipped closed as she pressed against her and Irene was so very gentle with her, she didn’t feel a bit nervous. This was no rough night with a man, this was something much more intimate.

Kate gave a soft sigh as she rounded her arms about the Goddess and found her plump lower lip being sucked on gently. One hand found soft ebony hair, caressing it and soothing fingers through it. Irene skated her palm up one milky white thigh all the way up to one breast, cupping it firmly and teasing the rosy nipple with thumb and forefinger.

The inexperienced moral woman moaned and let out a soft noise of surprise as she felt heat over her body. Kate’s cheeks pinked and her back arched to press insistently against the other woman’s hand, her long tresses falling away from her smooth skin as she tilted her head back. Irene cupped the back of Kate’s neck and kissed down her neck softly, her lips drifting over her collarbone until at last they latched to Kate’s other nipple, sucking gently. A sigh of pleasure left the young woman and she arched her back a little more, head tipping back as she abandoned herself to the gentle touch of the Goddess.

“Oh, my Lady…” Kate groaned, cheeks reddening.

Trembling hands ran over the Goddess’ skin, over her shoulders, her arms, her back, just wanting to touch. Taking the hands roaming over her, Irene pushed them to her breasts as she continued to suck gently, her own hands running up Kate’s thighs to grip her hips, feeling them roll subconsciously under her hands. 

Kate bit her lip and explored the slightly more sizeable breasts in cupped in her hands, palming over the already pert peaks of the other woman’s nipples. It made a breathy moan leave the Goddess and Irene leaned up to kiss Kate, her thigh pressing between the mortals legs. Wriggling a little bit, Kate gasped, finding the motion to be incredibly pleasurable. The longer this gentle push and pull went on between them, Kate becoming more emboldened as her hips rolled under Irene.

Irene pressed herself down to the smooth canvas of Kate’s thigh, gently undulating against her as she drifted her fingers down Sherlock’s side. She looked at Kate’s pretty face for a reaction as she slipped at fingers to the tight copper curls between her legs. Kate’s mouth fell open and her hips bucked at the questing fingers of her Goddess, flushing a brilliant red. Her breath caught and a sharp moan left her, lower lip between her teeth.

“My blessed one…” Irene whispered.

Kissing over Kate’s neck, Irene kissed over both of Kate’s nipples before continuing her way down her lithe body, tongue grazing her skin and rolling round her belly button before pulling Kate’s legs up and kissing the inside of her thigh.

The muscles in Kate’s stomach quivered in anticipation and she sucked in a breath, her thighs opening wider as she let her fingers brush through Irene’s rich, dark hair. She almost screamed with pleasure as an expert tongue slipped out from between ruby lips, gently teasing moans out of Kate. Irene started slowly, it would be very bad form to give the poor inexperienced girl a heart attack right now.

Lying back on the cushions, Kate relaxed as the Goddess’ mouth worked between her thighs, never having felt so much pleasure in her entire life. It wasn’t too long until she was keening softly, wriggling under her and squirming for more, for all of Irene’s attention. Irene could feel Kate pulsing and she began to suck tenderly, humming and moaning.

Kate writhed, moaning as her breath caught, deliciously flushed with red over her cheeks and collarbones, her back arching as she felt the great coil in her stomach clench and then finally release within her like a most wonderful sigh, waves of pleasure making her twitch and make soft little sounds of pleasure. Irene was enraptured by Kate’s orgasm, the way her body pitched and writhed in exquisite pleasure.

It took a good few moments just for the waves of pleasure to stop, then a few more for Kate to finally catch her breath, leaving her heavy and sedated on the cushions. Smiling lazily, Kate opened her eyes, blinking up at the Goddess looking down over her. Irene just smiled back and licked her lips slowly, leaning down to kiss Kate and suckle on her lower lip, to which Kate reciprocated with eagerness.

Humming, Irene straddled Kate and pinned her wrists above her head as she dipped down to give her the blessing. Irene bit at the soft skin of Kate’s collarbone, sucking a purple love bite into the soft and tender white flesh, one that would remain there forever. It would mark Kate forever as Aphrodite’s blessed one. It wasn’t just a mark sucked into the skin, as Irene sucked, she drew the doubt and nervousness out of the redhead like sucking poison from a wound.

“How do you feel?” Irene whispered, pulling away from Kate.

“I feel… renewed. Restored. Wonderful.” Kate whispered.

“You are blessed now… my blessed one.”

“My beautiful Goddess.”

“My soft and beautiful Kate.”

Kate smiled at being called beautiful, blushing only a little before she sat up a little to capture the Goddess’ lips with her own in a firm kiss. Irene was rather shocked at her forwardness, but kissed back all the same.

“You are so very gracious and beautiful.” Kate whispered, relaxing with a sigh.

“You know my virtues already, Kate dear…” Irene replied, resting beside her.

The mortal sighed and closed her eyes again, snuggling up beside the taller figure of the Goddess, arm delicately around Irene’s waist.

“I adore you, my Goddess.”

“I adore you too, my blessed one,” Irene breathed with a little smile on her face, “Sleep, my mortal beauty.”

Kate hummed softly and yawned, nuzzling into Irene’s perfumed skin as she dropped off to sleep gently. Smiling gently, Irene remained by her side, stroking Kate’s copper hair and covering their naked bodies with white linen for modesties sake.

Irene looked up as the gauzy drape of the chamber entrance moved aside and Molly peered in with the softest of smiles on her pale face and a look of relief crossing her features. She had been deeply worried for Irene.

“I am glad you found companionship…” Molly said in her timid little voice, “It is good to see the glow back in your cheeks.”

“Thank you, dear.” Irene smiled, looking back to Kate, “Now I have even more to fight for.”

“Yes. I am happy for you.”

Molly gave a soft smile, genuine and warm as she turned to leave the two women to rest and relax.

“Molly…” Irene called out, “Thank you for everything.”

Molly looked over her shoulder and gave the higher Goddess a warm smile, bowing her head a little before leaving. Irene let out a sigh and curled around Kate protectively, happy to remain here with her while the mortal got some much needed rest after today’s exciting events.


	15. Chapter 15

Greg was glad for the rest alone with his God, to reconnect with the one he loved after his time with Aphrodite. The water they were bathing in was warm and welcoming, soothing away the grime and foot soreness of their journey here. Mycroft was swimming through the pure water with grace and speed, barely making the water ripple as he came up to sit by Greg’s side.

“You should really get some rest.” Mycroft said softly, looking up as Greg pulled his arms round him.

“I will… I just… want to enjoy you. Alone, for a moment.” Greg sighed, stroking Mycroft’s soft skin.

“Mmm, we will have all the time in the time in the world when John has spoken to my grandfather.”

“Of course…” Greg kissed the tips of Mycroft’s fingers, “You… you want to be with me… forever?”

“I know now what Irene meant when she said she would rather give up being one of the Twelve to be with her love.”

“I am in love with you… with everything about you… and I have barely known you more than a few days. It is… strange.”

“You have known me your entire life.”

“Yes… true.”

“And I have watched over you since the moment you blinked into life.”

Mycroft looked up into the mortals eyes, steel grey meeting soft dark brown. Greg was a traveller at heart, which was why he had always felt so close to Hermes as his God, why he had prayed to him always. The way Mycroft put it, it was simple to understand their shared love and devotion. Smiling, Greg tipped Mycroft’s head a little and kissed him, light and slow and sweet.

“I am so very in love with you.” Greg whispered, stroking Mycroft’s cheek.

“And I with you, dear one.”

Pulling himself out of the water, Mycroft draped himself in robes of simple and soft white cotton. Greg followed, his skin seeming to glow softly at just being in his presence. Mycroft took the mortals hand and kissed it gently, able to feel the exhaustion Greg radiated. He could feel it himself deep in his bones, but as an immortal it was much, much easier to ignore.

“Come along.” the God whispered, drawing Greg to their chambers to sleep.

The whole temple seemed to fall into a hush, as if the very marble itself was slumbering gently. The three - and a half - Gods watched over the humans, protecting them from any harm that might befall them. The temple itself remained silent without its evening and morning worshipers coming to pray to the great Goddess. Even when noon came and the sunlight pooled in the centre of the temple over Athena’s statue, giving her a halo of bight golden light, the temple still remained deathly quiet.

Sherlock was one of the first to wake from the heavy slumber, at least of those who weren’t divine. He stretched like a great cat, pushing his dark curls from his forehead and kissing his lover’s soft skin. Waking at the light kiss, John looked up at Sherlock and smiled just a little, a healthy red glow shining in his cheeks. He still felt exhausted and weak, but he had his duty to perform.

“Come and bathe, John. We will get you cleaned up and fed, and feeling more like yourself, my love. Hmm?” Sherlock whispered, stroking John’s hair back.

Nodding, John managed to get up onto his feet with a low groan as every bone in his body ached acutely with different degrees of pain. Sighing, he looked up at Sherlock with a weary smile as the Demigod ran his arm round him to support his weight. Walking slowly to the baths, Sherlock tried to imbue some of his own strength into his partner, but his energy reserves were low, exhaustion hidden under the careful outer shell of strength that he put on for John’s benefit. He didn’t want his lover to worry any more than he already was.

Holding onto Sherlock, John stripped away his grubby clothing and sunk into the warm water with a soft sigh, smiling as their amulets clinked together round their necks. Dipping under the water, John let himself sink to the bottom before breaking out of the water with a splash, feeling much better as the heat soothed his tired and aching limbs. 

Bathing in the pools of Athena seemed to be greatly reviving Sherlock’s mortal partner and the Demigod moved to pull John back into his arms, kissing along his neck and holding him close. The smile on Sherlock face was bright and wide, gladness welling in his heart as John seemed to give off a golden glow.

“I am glad to see you feeling better.” he said softly into John’s ear.

“I feel much better, it has to be said.” John smiled, rolling his shoulders.

“I am glad to hear it.”

“The sun is bright today, the storm has passed.”

“It makes you glow, my John.”

Sherlock moved to kiss John and paused as he realised that his lover was gripping the tops of his arms and staring at him unblinkingly. It was rather disconcerting. Frowning, Sherlock pulled back and gave a soft, questioning look with his head adorably tilted on one side.

“What is it, my love?” he asked in a mellow tone.

“I just want to remember this moment, if everything goes badly.”

“It will not… it will not go badly, John.”

“But if it does… I am no God, my voice is tiny compared to yours.” John sighed, pressing to Sherlock, who held him back tight.

“Nonsense…” Sherlock whispered, kissing John’s golden hair, “Your voice can stop a God in their tracks, John. You are capable of great things.”

“Thank you, love.”

With a giggle, John pushed down on Sherlock’s shoulders, dunking him under the water playfully. Sherlock spluttered, completely taken by surprise as he resurfaced, shaking his dark hair out of his eyes, water droplets sent flying through the air to create little rainbows before making ripples as they fell back into the water. 

“Oi! None of that!” he sputtered, laughing loudly.

Grinning wide, Sherlock tried to grab a slippery John and pull him close, but the man was swift in his escape, swimming off into the centre of the pool where he gazed at Sherlock with his gold flecked eyes. Dipping under the water Sherlock swam to him and grabbed him round the middle, teeth nipping his thigh before surfacing, making the mortal yelp. 

Splashing water at Sherlock, John laughed as the water warmed around them even more. Diving, John kicked water at Sherlock as he propelled away, leaving the Demigod sputtering again.

Striking out against the side of the bath, Sherlock’s powerful limbs had him over distancing John and rounding on him, pulling him into a hard, nipping kiss. Of course, John kissed back just as eagerly, his arms tight about his lover as he looked up into his eyes, his own glowing with love and joy.

“Make love to me, John.” Sherlock said in a whisper.

“Not here…” John replied, his voice breathy, “Would you rather not wait until we are side by side on the Mount?”

Sighing, Sherlock looked into John’s eyes for a long moment, just lost in their infinite beauty, then he slowly nodded his agreement, even if it was rather reluctantly. He longed for John, desperately wanted him.

“It gives me all the more reason to speak loud for our love.” John added, kissing Sherlock hard.

Pressing against John, Sherlock could see the wisdom in John’s words, but he didn’t like them on principle. He pouted so much that John couldn’t help but let out a soft little sighing laugh at the look on Sherlock’s face and gave a shake of his head.

“Oh, love… do smile. I am sure the Gods will listen. After all, I have three of them on side.” John grinned, getting out of the water in one graceful movement.

“But I don’t like waiting.” Sherlock replied with a petulant snort.

“You must learn.”

John sighed and looked at Sherlock, thinking how very childlike the Demigod could be sometimes, laughing again as the man’s countenance slid into another deep pout before pulling himself from the water. Kissing Sherlock and biting that pouting lower lip a little, John stroked his damp curls and smiled.

“You gorgeous thing.”

“You just enjoy seeing me squirm, I think.” Sherlock huffed.

“If I enjoyed seeing you squirm, then I would do this.”

Reaching out, John tickled at Sherlock’s sides with his own giggle of enjoyment, a fond look on his face. Sherlock yelped and then dissolved into a loud giggling fit, John having to pull him back before he wiggled back away from him too far and landed in the water again.

“Easy now,” John chuckled, “Come on, I have Gods to rally.”

“Yes, alright, but you must eat first, yes? You need your strength.” Sherlock fussed.

“Yes, that sounds like a very good idea. I am starving.”

Rubbing his hands together happily, John began to clothe himself and Sherlock followed suit. Taking John’s hand, Sherlock led him back out to the main temple where the others were already dining on breakfast.


	16. Chapter 16

Irene was lounging with her new consort draped over her lap, feeding the red head bits of fruit and stroking her vibrant copper hair with her free hand. Mycroft and Greg both had faces that seemed to have been carved from stone, worry apparent on their faces, Greg having to force himself to eat to appease Mycroft. Molly was sat between them, smiling gently as the last two of their number entered and seated themselves to complete the circle.

John ate like he had been starved all week, his manners a little off with his hurried eating, but nobody really seemed to notice, too focused on their own affairs. Sherlock gave a little grimace at the pour manners, but he was glad that a healthy colour had returned to his lovers cheeks.

“We still need to find Dionysus.” Sherlock said when the silence got too much.

“One of us must call him to us.” Irene replied.

“He will not come. Not with out his mortal. He will make us go to him.”

“Then we make his human welcome too.” John said softly.

Tilting her head, Irene gave John a little smile and his ears turned a bright pink that travelled down his neck and over his cheeks, ending at the tip of his nose. Sherlock didn’t care much for the eyes happening between the Goddess of Beauty and his John, he wanted to pull John to him and hiss until she backed away.

“Either way,” Sherlock started smoothly, “We still must get the people turned back to the Gods before we can reopen the pathway to the Mount.”

“Then we need to get hold of Dionysus…” John said, clearing his throat.

“Who shall call to him then?”

“I shall go.” Irene smiled, sitting up already.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and gave a loud tut that made Irene hiss like an angered serpent, a noise that made Kate jump a little bit, her eyes going wide at the shocking sound. Irene’s eyes flashed dangerously with fire and Mycroft rose his eyebrows, narrowing his own cool steel grey eyes at her.

“What?” she growled, snapping her head towards him.

“Do you not think it should be someone wise to meet him?” Mycroft said acidly.

“I suggest Mycroft go,” Sherlock said, pressing his lips together, “Being the God of travel, he should present as a somewhat neutral party.”

“Neutral,” Irene growled, barking a laugh as she rounded on Sherlock, “He is your brother! Hardly neutral!”

The to and fro carried on between the three of them until John got annoyed, yelling for them to fall silent. Such was the force of the yell, the silver platters of food trembled on the marble flooring, the temple groaning a little as its stonework shook. Everyone, God and mortal alike, fell silent and turned their widened eyes to John, cowed by the amazing power of his voice.

“Selene. Molly… my sweet Goddess of the moon. Would you be willing to talk to Dionysus?” John asked, looking softly at Molly.

“What… me?” Molly flushed, looking round as if there might be another called Molly.

“Yes, my lady,” John smiled, bowing his head to her, “You are the only one who is not arguing like little children.”

“I… yes, I will go… I will have to wait until nightfall, is that alright?” 

“That is fine. Is everyone in agreement?”

“That is fine.” Sherlock agreed, smiling gently at his John.

Greg gave a firm nod, but said nothing. He was still unsure if his opinion was really worth much among the Gods around him, if he was really worthy of even having an opinion on the matters of the Gods. 

Smiling just a little, Irene nodded and looked to Kate for her answer while Mycroft smiled and bowed his head a little in agreement. Kate blushed brilliantly and nodded, confused as to why she had a vote in all of this, but wanting to please her Goddess.

Molly looked around at the circle and widened her eyes as she realised everyone was supporting her, a bright pink colouring her pale cheeks as she looked down into her lap. She contemplated her new assignment and realised she had rather a great responsibility on her shoulders.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Irene asked, stroking at Molly’s hair and smiling.

“Yes, just… nervous, I suppose.”

“You should not be.” 

Irene rested her hand gently on Molly’s shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze. Mycroft nodded and tool Molly’s hand in his, stroking it tenderly. Giving a soft, grateful smile, Molly lifted her chin, much more at ease with all the reassurance.

“We will all be behind you, to keep you safe,” Mycroft said, looking to Greg, “I will send my warrior as your guard.”

“Oh no,” Molly whispered, shaking her head, “I could not ask that of you… besides, I will just travel by moonlight. It should not take long.”

“My darling, I will not risk any harm of you by God or by man. My warrior will be at your side.”

“It is alright, really. I can travel much faster and easier on my own. It will not even take me the whole night to seek him.”

“And if you run into danger? My warrior is as quick as you need him to be, he is my champion after all. How would it look if the champion of the God of Travel could not travel swiftly?”

“I promise you, I will be more than fine,” Molly said firmly, “Nothing can touch me when I travel by moonlight. With your warrior, it would take nearly a week to reach Crete.”

“We worry for you, darling.” Irene chipped in.

The Elder Gods were worried deeply for the little Lesser Goddess, that she would be hurt and it would be their fault that she had. Sitting up straighter, Molly gave them a soft, almost secretive smile on her face as she gazed back into their worried faces, not a flicker of worry on her own.

“There is no need,” she said softly, “I can look out for myself well enough.”

Frowning a little at the smile, Irene then quirked and eyebrow before just rolling her eyes, flopping back dramatically on Kate’s lap with a sigh. Sherlock looked at the Elder Gods with a frown of his own on his face, sighing a little as he rolled his eyes.

“She says she can do it alone and I feel she is more than capable. We should leave it.” he sighed, shaking his head.

Blinking a little bit, Irene nodded and looked up at Kate, cheek rubbing against her thigh. Kate just smiled and began to play with the Goddess’ hair, braiding it with great skill. Of course, the actions of the two women cause John’s eyes to drift to them, his eyebrows high on his forehead and a grape hovering halfway to his open mouth.

“You will want to put that grape in your mouth now, John.” Sherlock whispered in the mans ear.

Nodding, John took two attempts to get the grape in his mouth, his cheeks flushing bright red as he lowered his eyes to the ground. Sherlock was not well pleased with his lovers continued reaction to the beautiful Goddess and her consort. He was enamoured with them and it rubbed the Demigod up the wrong way, made his hackles rise. Why didn’t John look at him with that lustful gaze of wanting?

Irene had no idea that John was looking at her, coveting both women, his eyes wide as he gazed at them. The Goddess just smiled up at her blessed one, her fingers grazing her thigh gently. Kate was the same, absorbed in her silent communication with the Goddess, continuing to weave intricate patterns into her dark hair with a fond smile on her face.

John’s mouth fell open and he watched the women’s hands travel over soft, plump skin. Swallowing, he blinked rapidly and blushed deeply as if he’d been drinking a large amount of wine. Sherlock didn’t miss this reaction and he felt a hard knot curling tight in his stomach. Rising silently, he moved away from the circle and out to the courtyard at the entrance of the temple where the sight could no longer offend his eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

The sunlight was glorious as it washed over Sherlock’s body, warming his slightly chilled skin as he clambered up into the sun warmed lap of his mothers statue, able to see right the way over the entire city from here. Curling up he sighed and realised that John had followed him. Watching Sherlock go had made John’s heart sink to his toes and he felt he had to follow, not even looking back or answering when asked where he was going. 

Sherlock’s thin arms were wound round himself, his pale eyes looking out over the city and yet he was more than aware that John was looking at him from between the feet of the statue, yet he could find no words.

“I have missed the sun.” John said, turning his face to the clear sky.

Curling himself between the feet of the statue, John rested his head back on the marble with a little sigh, waiting for Sherlock to answer. He would wait forever if he had to. Of course, Sherlock didn’t, he just gave a soft, indistinct hum that did nothing more than acknowledge that he’d heard the other man.

“Sherlock… you are upset with me.” John whispered.

A shiver ran through John’s body as If the suns warmth had been drained from his body and his skin had become cold stone. The thought of Sherlock being upset with him made his chest feel as if it were contracting and crushing his heart in his chest, making him desperately sad.

“No…” Sherlock said at last, “It is perfectly natural for you to be attracted to Aphrodite.”

“I will not look on her again.”

John looked up and stretched his arm up for Sherlock to reach down and take. Nodding a little, Sherlock took John’s hand, his long fingers reaching to wind with John’s shorter ones, squeezing gently. John smiled and ran his thumb over the knuckles of Sherlock’s hand, feather light and gentle

“It is just… when I look at her, so many desires run through my head.” John sighed.

“That is… unsurprising.” Sherlock whispered, looking away, his face soft and almost sad.

“I imagine so many things.” John breathed, eyes becoming glassy as he thought.

Sherlock’s stomach turned and flipped at the mental image of John lying with the Goddess in a carnal fashion, the knot returning to the pit of his stomach again only to tighten and wriggle uncomfortably. Closing his eyes, John let out a sigh and the blush raised on his cheeks again. Sherlock was struggling to find his voice,

“As I said…” Sherlock whispered, his voice strained and forced, “It is… fine.”

“You and I… what beautiful sounds we could bring from her together.”

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to flush and he fell silent, turning his face away from John. Letting out a sigh, John let go of Sherlock’s hand and lay down, his head on one of the statues feet and his legs hooked over the other to soak up as much of the sun and its strength as he possibly could.

“I am sure she would be more than willing to take you to her bed, if you so desire.” Sherlock muttered.

“I would do so on only one condition.” John said, looking up at Sherlock.

“And what is that?” Sherlock said, keeping his eyes averted.

“That you came with me.”

“I have no desire to share her bed… only… only yours.”

“While she is beautiful and I wish to hear her moans… yours interest me much more. The things we would do to her to spend her, then fall into each others arms, desperate and keening.”

John’s heart was hammering hard in his chest as he thought about it and Sherlock stoically kept his eyes fixed on the marble of the statue. There was a soft, dull ache in his chest and he couldn’t understand it, couldn’t quantify it. He just know it shouldn’t be there and that it hurt.

“Together, we would really show the Goddess of our love and passion, she would be shocked as we made love, shocked at the beauty of us together that would outshine even her…” John continued, smiling to himself, “I would worship you, my Sherlock… until the heavens shook.”

Sherlock shook his head a little, soft and sad at first, then his eyes flicked back to John and he flushed a little. 

“Sit with me.” Sherlock said softly.

John got to his feet and swung himself up to join Sherlock in the statues lap, looking into Sherlock’s eyes with a soft smile on his face. Still looking slightly sad and lost, Sherlock rested his head gently in John’s lap.

“My Sherlock, when you look so sad, it is like the sun does not shine on me any more. It makes me cold.” John said, his face falling into a bitterly sad look.

“I… I do not know why I ache this way. Just… the thought of you with anyone else… the thought that you desire her, when just this morning you did not desire me.” Sherlock replied.

“I do desire you! I desperately desire you, but with you… I want it to be special. I want our time together to be perfect. I do not desire her… I just… think I do. That is the magic of her, is it not? To have this false desire for her. She does not bring me love, or peace, or even happiness. With her, it would be meaningless.”

“And yet… yet still you lust for her…” Sherlock muttered, his voice muffled from being pressed into John’s tunic, “She stirs your loins in a way I have not done.”

“Because you are not a brazen hussy,” John said with a low chuckle, “You are subtle… like the scent of a rose. Trust me… you do stir my loins.”

Sherlock blushed and shook his head, face buried in John’s lap to hide away. John leaned down to whisper in Sherlock’s ear, lips brushing against the soft shell of the Demigods ear.

“Why is it that I can only think of taking you down into the city and following the lives of debauchery with them,” he whispered, his voice purring and soft, “To take you to bed and not rise from it except to eat and bathe. To sleep in the sheets that bare our sweat and seed until we are ready to make love again.”

Sherlock was very glad that his face was hidden away, his cheeks burning a vivid pink from the low, breathless whispers of the mortal. A soft whined sigh of want fell from Sherlock lips.

“By the Gods…” John sighed, licking his lips, “How much I would love to do that. But you are so pure… you deserve to be lain down in the petals of roses and made love to gently until your breaths bring forth great clouds of ecstasy.”

Shivering a little, Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed as every single word John spoke painted a perfect picture in his minds eye.

“Yes…” he breathed, “Yes, I want that…”

“That is what I truly desire…” John smiled, resting back against the marble and turning his face up to the sun.

Nuzzling with all the more enthusiasm against John’s lap, Sherlock’s heart no longer ached, just wanting to be as close as he could to his match. John slipped his hand inside Sherlock’s tunic to press over his heart.

“Forgive me for looking at the lady… I am only mortal.” he said in a defeated tone.

“Yes, I forgive you. Of course I do.” Sherlock nodded.

“It is strange. I feel the need to satisfy her… but no need to have my own needs seen to.”

“Let us talk no more of Aphrodite.”

“I am just trying to understand it,” John replied, licking his lips slowly, “And it takes my mind off the desire to make love to you right here on this statue for the whole city to see.”

“John…”

Sherlock flushed a bright shade of red and burrowed his head against John’s thigh, biting his lip. John gave a blush of his own and stroked at Sherlock’s curls as he fell silent, an outpouring of lust making it hard to think of little more than taking Sherlock here and now despite his promise only to do so when they reached the Mount. Sherlock fidgeted, humming at the hand in his hair.

“I only wish we were on the Mount already… it is… difficult to be patient.” Sherlock sighed.

“But imagine how wonderful it will be when we do.” John replied, kissing Sherlock.

“But… I know. I just… I am impatient.”

“You are a child… such wanton.”

“I cannot help wanting to make love to you.”

“I want it too, but I have the strength to wait.”

“It is loathsome.” Sherlock huffed.

“I know, darling. But one of us has to stay pure…” John chuckled, stroking his cheek.

“I love you, my John.”

“I love you too, Sherlock. With all my being.”

Sherlock fell quiet and just looked out over his mother’s great city, sighing at how empty the streets were, how silent it seemed as everyone slept away the partying and merrymaking from the night before, only a few hopeful women standing on street corners to tempt men to their beds.

“John… we should go into the city. Talk to the people… try to bring them back to the Gods.” Sherlock said, sitting up.

“What do we have to offer them in return?” John sighed, looking out at the city.

“I… I do not know… but they must realize that if they continue this way, their crops will fail, the oceans will swallow them whole.”

“I know, love. But they will just see us as mad soothsayers.”

“So…” Sherlock sighed, looking at John, “What do we do?”

“We wait until Molly has found Dionysus… he may release some from his service to come back to the Gods to keep the natural order.”

Smiling, Sherlock nodded as he put his arms round John, feeling almost as if he really was sitting in his mothers arms and not just perching on the marble lap of her statue. John was watching the sun glint back at them from different places all over the city like diamonds.

“Hmm, I am glad Apollo managed to raise his chariot today.” John hummed softly.

Sherlock turned to John and looked at him, marvelling at how John’s skin seemed to glow in the bright sunlight like burnish gold, his wind-ruffled hair glinting like the corn at harvest time.

“Yes…” Sherlock breathed, blinking himself out of his stupor, “You… were very lucky to be blessed by him.”

“I still do not know why I was chosen by him. What made him choose me above all others…” John replied, his gold flecked eyes turning to Sherlock.

“All my life… I have missed you… without ever knowing why it was that my heart was aching.”

“That is so… sad. To be aching so long.” 

“Did you… ache for me?”

“I knew there was something off,” John said, frowning as he thought, “I did not ache. I had my wife and son… my family. But I felt this feeling deep in my heart that stuck out like a splinter.”

Lowering his eyes, Sherlock nodded a little. He had forgotten that John had had a whole life before him. Someone he loved. A family. People he had deeply cherished and lost. How was he ever supposed to compete with something such as that? To John, Sherlock must still seem like an outsider. Sensing something was off, John cupped Sherlock’s cheek gently and looked into his eyes

“But when you found me, it was like that splinter had been removed and my how it flooded me with love for you.” John said in a soft voice.

“We exist in such different worlds…” Sherlock said, touching at John’s amulet, “The sun and moon… God and mortal… how is it that I feel so deeply for you?”

“We live in different worlds, but they have come crashing together.”

John let out a breath and the amulet glinted brightly under Sherlock’s hand. Fingers finding Sherlock’s own amulet, John stroked it and smiled. The white quartz seemed to glow and shimmer beneath John’s touch as the amber of John’s own pendant glinted as Sherlock brushed gentle fingers over it. Their eyes met, pale iridescence shot with silver meeting deep, sun flecked blue. As much as Sherlock’s eyes looked like a moonlight night and the silver lining of midnight clouds, John’s looked much like today’s sky, golden sun shining from a deep blue sky. 

A sigh left John and he flopped down on Sherlock, making the Demigod let out another little noise of surprise at the near tackle before just snuggling down together on the warm marble of the statue.

“My beautiful John…” Sherlock sighed.

“Sherlock… I feel… odd…” John whispered, frowning and shifting lazily, lifting his hand to his head.

“Odd? Odd how? Are you alright,” Sherlock asked, acutely attuned to John due to his ill health, “Perhaps I should take you back inside, let you lie down…”

“Yes, I think we should.”

Slipping down from the statue, John had to shield his eyes from the sun as he lent against the statue for support, the brightness of it scorching his eyes, making them hurt. He looked up towards the temple and the sun above it, beating down on him. His arms dropped slowly and he keeled over, Sherlock having to catch him before he took a tumble down the stairs, John falling limp into his arms with his eyes wide and unblinking. Gasping, Sherlock pulled his lover into his arms, confused and scared.

“John? John,” Sherlock gasped, eyes wild, “Mycroft!”


	18. Chapter 18

Mycroft ran at the heartbreaking cry of his brother, gasping as he saw the state of John, helping Sherlock to carry him back within the temple walls. Tears burst into Sherlock’s eyes as he carried most of John’s weight, face tight and pained.

“Myc, what has happened? What is wrong with him?” he gasped, holding John tight.

“Let us get him rested first, then we can speculate.” Mycroft replied.

Calling for Greg for help, Mycroft helped Sherlock rest his lover down on the cushions in their chamber. Molly hurried to grab fresh water and a dipped a rag in it to press to John’s head. Everyone was bustling round John, shocked by the sudden sickness that had overtaken the speaker.

Mycroft was carefully examining John, looking into his open eyes and checking his pulse, resting back on his knees as he looked at Sherlock who was running his trembling fingers through John’s hair. He was intensely upset about the whole thing, battling with the hot tears threatening to fall.

“The Gods speak with him. He is in their council now. We will know more when he awakens,” Mycroft said softly, stroking at Sherlock’s curls and pulling him to his chest, “Sherlock, do not worry. He is just entranced. It makes it easier for Apollo to converse with him.”

“Are you sure he will be alright?” Sherlock asked, clinging to Mycroft’s robes and hiding his face in them.

“Of course brother. He will be fine.”

Burying his head more into Mycroft’s robes, Sherlock felt his worry lift a little, calmness beginning to wash over him. Humming softly, Mycroft looked at Sherlock with soft eyes to calm him down, stroking his fingers gently through the Demigods curls, just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“We should light the room softly and burn incense,” Mycroft said, lifting his chin, “It will make it easier for John to traverse back to us, to follow the light and scent back to us.”

“I will do it,” Greg said softly, kissing his God as he rose, “Take care of your brother.”

Sherlock look like he needed the care, looking alone and lost without John beside him. Resting Sherlock down, Mycroft poured him water which the Demigod didn’t accept. He didn’t want to lie down, or to drink. He wanted John well again.

“Apollo could have chosen a less dramatic way to converse with John, it has to be said.” Mycroft sighed, shaking his head.

Greg light the lanterns, throwing bright and colourful light around the chamber, bouncing from the marble floor to illuminate the space. The incense burnt strong, filling the temple with a strong, pungent aroma.

The whole temple had a tense atmosphere to it, Irene and Kate watching on from the entrance of their chamber, their bodies barely covered in the stuffy heat of the day. Mycroft continued to put himself out and look after his younger brother while the day dragged along at a snails pace. Sherlock remained with his head in his brothers lap while Mycroft stroked his curls to sooth him, while Molly debated leaving the chamber, but John needed someone to tend to him.

It was some time after the sun had finally dipped behind the horizon that John’s eyes closed and a great breath left him. In an instant, Sherlock was up and at his lovers side, clutching his hand desperately and running his fingers through his golden hair.

“John? My John?” Sherlock whispered, his voice strained.

John was in a deep sleep, his experience with the Gods being most exhausting for his already fragile body. While he didn’t wake, he did move close to Sherlock, smiling faintly. Sherlock closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry as he curled against his partner, grateful at for this, at least.

It was another hour, when the sky was black and the others were ready to bid farewell to Molly as she went on her journey that John rose. He woke swiftly, on his feet and pulling Sherlock after him as he strode towards the gaggle of Gods and mortals, chin lifted high. Sherlock was rather shocked to find himself on his feet and being pulled away from their bedding by John’s strong hand.

“John? John, what is it?” Sherlock muttered, still sleepy.

“I have information on Dionysus… information we all need to know,” John stated to all assembled, “He resides in Crete with his mortal lover. They have taken shelter in the Temple of Hades of all places. He is weak at the moment, resting and recuperating himself before the next attack. Lady Molly, you must hurry to him, he has joined with Hades and soon that will be dangerous for us all.”

John’s voice was strong and rang through the temple as he spoke, even though he looked far too weak to have that strong a voice. It made everyone sit up and pay attention to him.

The new information was grave indeed. If Hades was involved in this fight then death and plague would soon follow to decimate the mortal population, and it wouldn’t end there. The recent dead would rise once more and long dead spirits of evil would be unleashed from the Underworld, both allowed to wreak havoc on the living. It would be too terrible for words if it was allowed to happen.

Blinking and frowning, Sherlock wanted to ask John if he was sure of this, but of course he was. It was clear in his voice. Molly, her face fierce, gave a nod of her head and then took a deep cleansing breath.

“I’ll leave right now. I should be back before the sun rises.” she said coolly.

Stepping out of the temple, she stood in a beam of bright silvery moonlight, seeming to fade away into a sparkling wave of silver miasma that drifted away on the wind in the direction of Crete. John smiled as he watched Molly go, wishing her a silent good luck on her journey as he curled himself into Sherlock’s arms in the hopes of sleep.

The Temple of Hades was a dark place, even in the height of summer, light never seemed to reach the temple floor. The whole place had a sense of claustrophobia, as if the darkness pressed from every direction, threatening to consume. If that wasn’t enough, the air was filled with the pungent smell of funeral incense, used to cover the stench of death. The gleaming black marble of the interior temple was illuminated by stark flame torches that did little to pierce the darkest of the deep shadows in this place. It was a foreboding place that brought the hairs to attention on the back of ones neck, as if living flesh and blood should never stray here.

Molly was forced to reintegrate outside the entrance to the darkened temple in the last available beam of moonlight. The entrance of the temple was dark, like a great maw that threatened to swallow Molly whole and take her to the depths of the Underworld itself. An uneasy shiver travelled down her spine, but Molly just lifted her chin and boldly stepped through the entrance into the chill of the temple that seemed to bite through to her very bones themselves.

“Hello?” she called out in a firm a voice as she could manage.

Her voice echoed around her for what seemed like an age, something that unnerved her and put her on edge immediately. At first there was no reply, then there was soft laughter from the shadows before her. Then laughter from the shadows behind her. All around her, as if she were surrounded by unknown voices all with the same laugh. 

Molly didn’t back down, just stood her ground and the laughter faded away, ceasing as into the light Dionysus stepped out. His pale skin was covered in a jet black robe, lined with a deep, royal purple, a circlet of gold settling on the black wave of his hair. Flushing slightly, Molly frowned and folded her arms as the God stepped out from the shadows.

“Jim! You frightened me!” she admonished the God, slightly forcefully.

There was a soft growling noise from the black pits of the shadows behind Jim and a creature walked beside the God. It could only be described as a creature, made from several parts of different animals. Its body and had was of orange fur striped with black as a tiger would be, great leathery bat wings that could easily carry it and the tail almost scorpion-like. Turning to look at the creature, Jim buried his hand into the orange fur at the top of the creatures head, tugging on it fondly.

“Sebby, darling. Do not be so rude to our guest.” Jim smirked turning back to Molly, “You look well, Selene. Or is it Molly? Gods having to use the names of humans… it is sickening.”

“Why are you doing this, Jim? You do not know the repercussions of what is happening!” Molly said, her face severe.

Sebastian gave another low growl like a rumble of thunder, his hackles still raised, ready to protect his God to the death against any and all intruders, even if they did have divine powers.

“Sebastian,” Jim exclaimed, tugging the orange fur again, “I will not warn you again! What is the Goddess of the Moon going to do to us? Glitter at us? Perhaps glow? You can change back…”

Rubbing his great shaggy head against Jim’s side and giving a little purr, Sebastian backed up and shifted back into his human form, pushing his blonde hair from his head and fixing his two tone eyes on the Goddess wearily. He was a strong man that rippled with muscle, unique looking with his one blue eye and one amber. 

Jim helped the mortal up, his hand running over the bronzed skin of Sebastian’s bare chest, the man dressed as a Gladiator might be, leather bracers at wrist and ankle, a leather kilt low over his hips. Sebastian was a barbarian, it was clear to see from the scars that littered his body and the way he held himself, the way his hair fell lank and knotted carelessly. He was a man who had been tempered by brutality and bloodshed all through his life and had been tamed by a God.

Taking the mortal’s hand, Jim lead Sebastian over to a great black throne to seat himself, pulling Sebastian down to sit at his feet. The mortal sat there quite happily, looking up at his God in complete adoration, winding an arm round Jim’s legs.

“Why am I doing this,” Jim said with a twisted grin on his face, “Why not? Its fun.”

“But what will you gain by it,” Molly asked, her hands moving to settle on her hips, “You’re only making it harder for yourself and your beloved, as well as the other Gods and theirs. If we work together, we may all be able to find a solution.”

“What do I mean to gain? Hmm… let me think… respect, fear, loyalty. All the things the Twelve have and we do not. I want the right to walk with my brethren without being looked down on. I want the right to walk with my love on the Mount.”

“Ad do you think I do not wish for that as well? That Aphrodite and Hermes do not wish it? I know this is why you’ve sought Hades. He and his half-mortal consort, the beautiful Persephone. I know how you feel.”

“You know nothing of how I feel…” Jim hissed, his voice like acid as he stroked Sebastian’s hair, “I have learnt things… terrible things. About what our Blessings do to a mortal. We give these Blessings believing that they will benefit our mortal loves… all we ultimately do is shorted their time on this earth. Our loves are snatched from us too soon.”

“And how must I feel,” Molly yelled, angry and flushed as she stared Jim down, “My love slumbers, forever. I can never hear his voice, see him smile, hear him laugh. Zeus has stolen him from me, left only a shell behind.”

“Then are you fighting me,” Jim asked, his voice light and full of song, “He needs to be shown… the power we have to fight him. To fight for love.”

“We are not fighting you. We want to help you. We have a Voice, a Speaker. We want to take this before Zeus himself.”

“You want to help yourselves. You will happily hang me out to dry if everything goes badly. I would be sacrificed for you and those Higher Gods…”

“No, Jim. It is time for change. It is time that we made our wishes known. We will stand together.”

Looking down at his consort, Jim pressed his pale fingered hand to Sebastian’s cheek, stroking his thumb against the mortals cheekbone. Leaning forward, Jim pressed a soft kiss to Sebastian’s forehead before leaning back and looking into the mortals bi-coloured eyes.

“What do you think, my tiger heart?” Jim whispered.

“Perhaps it is time. Perhaps we should talk to these other Gods.” Sebastian said in a deep voice.

“My warrior Prince…”

Jim pulled Sebastian up and gave him a vicious kiss, his hands roaming freely as he pulled away with a dash of blood on his lip from biting Sebastian’s. The mortal gave a pleasured growl, panting as his God pulled away, causing Molly to blush brilliantly and avert her eyes at their carrying on.

“You will come?” she asked, clearing her throat.

“Oh yes, we will both come…” Jim whispered, his eyes only for Sebastian.

“We are in Athens. I will tell them to expect your arrival.”

“Are you denying up a lift?” 

“With Olympus closed to us, I do not have enough power to transport anyone but myself.”

“Very well. It may take a while for us to come to you.”

“I’ll let them know.”

“You do that…”

Jim looked bored with the whole thing now and had started fussing over Sebastian, placing a silver band on the mortals head like a crown. Sebastian slid his hand up Jim’s thigh, heading for the soft inner skin. Jim moved close to Sebastian, their lips brushing teasingly but never actually kissing. The were worse than Irene and her consort.

Flushing, Molly turned to leave hurrying out into the moonlight to travel back to the safety of Athens and the Temple of Athena. This place made a deep chill settle in her bones that she didn’t like in the slightest and the couples actions made her blush deeply with embarrassment for being in the middle of such a private situation.


	19. Chapter 19

Once she was gone, Sebastian crashed his lips against Jim’s, surging up to grip him. Groaning a little, Jim let his fingers reach up to grab at Sebastian’s messy blonde hair at the nape of his neck. Giving a growl, Sebastian’s arms wound round the thing, lithe little God, pulling him closer in a possessive embrace.

“Growl for me, tiger.” Jim whispered, his black eyes on Sebastian bi-coloured ones.

Sebastian did grow, low and heavy, deep in his muscled chest as he began to kiss over the God’s marble like skin. Jim kissed at Sebastian’s neck, sucked it, bruised it.

“A little romp before we leave? A little fun…” Jim panted.

“I always want you, you know that…” Sebastian grunted in his deep voice.

“Then take me through to our chamber, tiger… before I change my mind.”

Jim grinned and licked his lips, his tongue flicking out like a snake as Sebastian lifted him easily, holding the God hard against him as he wound his way through the dark passageways to come to their chamber. It was different to the rest of the temple, lush and comfortable with its dark cushions, the shadows chased away by lanterns that threw reddish light over everything.

Jim grinned and gasped at the second growl Sebastian gave, letting his robe slip from him as if it had a mind of his own, his hands ripping the leather of Sebastian’s kilt away from his body as if it were made of paper.

“Make it good, tiger. We might not be able to do it for a while…” Jim purred, biting his lip.

“You want anything specific, kitten?” Sebastian asked, licking at Jim’s neck.

“Rough… filthy… fun. None of this prissy ‘making love’. I want to feel the fire inside you.” 

Jim rocked and undulated under Sebastian’s body, his movements liquid. Growling again, Sebastian bit hard at Jim’s neck, a rough palmed hand over one nipple, pinching it firmly which made Jim moan. There was a good chance that this could get violent with Jim around, there were times where the balance of chaos had been thrown and Sebastian had been left a bloody mess. This was quickly turning into one of these times, Jim’s nails scratching down Sebastian’s back.

“Careful, love, if you want me to fly us to Athens, you cannot go ripping me up too badly.” Sebastian whispered, teeth finding Greg’s nipple.

“You are going to have to hold me down then, love. All I can think of doing to you is clawing you and biting that skin until it blooms with blood.” Jim snarled, blood and lust in his eyes.

Baring his teeth, Sebastian grabbed Jim’s wrists hard and pinned them above his head with one hand as he dipped his fingers in a little dish of oil. Jim struggled as Sebastian pushed his fingers into him roughly, a hiss leaving Jim’s lips and spines erupting from his skin under Sebastian’s hand to keep him at bay.

“Stop that!” Sebastian snarled, his skin rippling as he threatened to shift.

“I cannot control it… you know I cannot. How would you have me,” Jim whispered, pushing himself onto Sebastian’s fingers. “You know I can give you your hearts desire. Would you have me bound like a slave?”

Growling, Sebastian dipped down to capture Jim’s lips in a hard, bruising and punishing kiss. Jim’s teeth became pointed and he bit down on Sebastian’s lip sharply, easily drawing blood.

“Speak to me, love… tell me…” Jim hissed.

“I would not have you bound… never bound.” Sebastian whispered, blood dripping from his lip.

“Not even for fun?”

Flipping Sebastian over, Jim managed to keep himself on Sebastian’s fingers, bucking on them a little bit as the mortal thrust them deeper.

“Well of course for fun, kitten. But a God such as you should be free to wreck vengeance and chaos as you see fit…” Sebastian whispered into Jim’s ear.

Groaning, Jim eyes fluttered shut and his breath became a little moan as he looked into Sebastian’s eyes with a wicked grin on his face.

“I will… but first… my warrior gets his fun.” Jim whispered.

Leather straps slithered over Jim’s pale flesh like a snakes, binding him tight and stilling his mouth. Moving in his tight bindings, Jim rutted down on Sebastian’s fingers with abandon. Flipping them back over, Sebastian pressed down on Jim, drifting down to envelop the God with his mouth, sucking on his cock eagerly.

Moaning through the thick leather, his eyes closed as his muscles tensed as he girded his loins for Sebastian, looking up at the mortal as leather began to creep up Sebastian’s legs. Giving a soft growl, Sebastian wriggled in the leather straps moving to kiss Jim as he pushed into him, moaning loudly.

Jim’s eyes burnt with fire as he felt Sebastian’s cock push inside him, his back arching as the mortal seated himself deep. Letting out a breath, Jim gave Sebastian an innocent look as more leather bound Sebastian’s arms tight together behind them until they hurt a little. Jim began to move his hips fucking himself on the bound mortal. All Sebastian could do was move his hips, trying to thrust himself as deep as possible into the God.

The tightness of the leather bindings, the rocking of their hips together had Jim already leaking precome, the fluid rolling down slowly over his stomach to soak into the dark cushions below him. Bucking his hips harder, Sebastian doubled himself over to suck Jim back into his mouth, making the God moan distraughtly. The leather was straining now, Jim’s body gleamed with a silver sweat that glittered in the low light.

Moaning, Sebastian drove as best he could and the silent temple was filled with the sound of their fucking. Jim was so close now, energy bubbling in the pit of his stomach. As he came with a loud yell, the bindings around them both snapped with the force of it, bringing Sebastian to his fall at the same time to collapse panting onto his God’s chest.

“Oh, Sebby…” Jim whispered, his eyes closing.

Rolling, Jim closed his eyes and rested his head against Sebastian’s chest, breathing in his heady musk as he stroked at the mortals hair, still grinning wide.

“Oh, my darling. I will never let you fall.” Jim breathed.

“My beautiful, beautiful God. I will always be with you.” Sebastian muttered, still panting.

“Yes you will, my Prince.”

Giving a soft huff, Sebastian wrapped his arms round Jim, nuzzling into his neck. Jim blinked, staring away into the blackness of the open entrance to their chamber, letting out a soft breath as he stroked Sebastian’s sweaty skin.

“Even if I have to rip the earth apart to be with you.” Jim added.

Sebastian kissed the purple mark on Jim’s neck as it began to fade back to its milky white already. Resting his hand over Sebastian’s heart, Jim smiled down at him as he curled up on him, looking small and naïve.

“I cannot let Zeus win this. If those piteous Gods do not listen, I will burn them away from this earth like parasites.” Jim said firmly.

“I will stand beside you and watch them burn, my love. But perhaps it will not come to that.” Sebastian whispered, his eyebrows knitting together a little.

“And if it does? If you are ripped for me I will descend to the underworld and reside with you.”

Holding Jim protectively close to his chest, Sebastian kissed his God passionately. Leaning into the embrace, Jim smiled down at the mortal gently, stroking Sebastian’s strong jaw.

“Sleep, dear.” Jim whispered.

“Should we not go to Athens?” Sebastian asked.

“We can travel tomorrow. You need your rest.”

Stroking his fingers through Sebastian’s hair gently, Jim kissed him tenderly. Snuggling into the plush cushions, Sebastian sighed happily and drifted to sleep in Jim’s arms, finding sleep came much easier these days with a God watching over him. 

Taking a fine ivory comb, Jim began to tame the golden hair atop Sebastian’s head to make it lie in a soft wave on his head. He wanted his loved one to look his very best when they went before the other Gods, for them to see how beloved Sebastian was. Gold beads were slipped into Sebastian’s hair by Jim’s nimble fingers, silver cuffs slipped onto the mortals ears. By the time that Jim was done, Sebastian glinted with precious stones and metals from his fingers and ears.

Sebastian woke just after dawn to the soft sound of a lyre being played by Jim in the corner of the chamber, his eyes closed. He would often wake to hear soft music, the instruments soft sound helping to quell the chaos inside the God, giving Jim something to focus on while his lover was sleeping. Turning his bright eyes to Jim, Sebastian smiled and stretched as he rose to kiss the God.

“Shall we be off, my love?” Sebastian asked in his deep tone.

“Yes, my beauty. How you glisten…” Jim whispered, having to pause to look at Sebastian’s beauty.

“Not so bright as you, my love.”

“Do you like your new gifts?” Jim asked, hand stroking over the jewellery.

“Anything you bless me with is not as fine as yourself.”

“You are a God to me, Sebastian. You bless me with you presence.”

“Come on, kitten,” Sebastian whispered, kissing Jim deeply, “We have got places to be, yeah?”

“Oh, how you will gleam brighter and more beautiful than the Lady Aphrodite herself.”

Sebastian kissed Jim one last time before drawing away, shifting into his other form, his wings rustling. Pressing his wet nose against Jim’s hand, he butted his head against the God with a little purr. Jim smiled and kissed the tip of Sebastian’s tiger nose and stroked his soft fur as he got onto Sebastian’s back and lay down, his head resting on top of Sebastian’s. 

Waiting for the God to settle comfortably on his back, Sebastian padded outside, his paws not making a sound on the marble as he took Jim outside. Gathering his muscles beneath him, he launched into the sky with a fearsome roar, his black wings unfurling. Jim didn’t bat an eyelid as they rocketed into the sky, just sat up and spread his arms out to feel the wind, blowing the clouds aside before they flew through them and got soaked.

It took them the better part of a day to reach Athens and gently touch down outside the Temple of Athena, slightly damp from the moist air above them. Sebastian landed without a sound, shaking his head as Jim slid off his back, tired from the long flight.

Looking up at the temple, Jim lifted his chin and flicked his eyes to Sebastian, putting a hand in the orange and black fur at Sebastian’s shoulder as they both walked into the temple, looking strong and determined.

The other Gods and their consorts turned away from their various activities, both Gods and mortals rising to their feet as the God of Chaos wandered across the temple floor at his own pace, all of them seeming to hold their breath as their eyes traced over the great creature padding along beside him.

Jim looked down at Sebastian and gave him a little nod for him to take his human form, which Sebastian did after licking Jim’s hand, giving a great shake. Sherlock looked over the bejewelled human with a little frown on his face, deciding to keep his opinions to himself for the moment. 

“We have travelled long and we desire rest, food and somewhere to bathe.” Jim said, his voice ringing out, a hint of a sneer in his tone.

Greg got to his feet and gave the God of Chaos a little bow, wanting to seem as gracious and welcoming as he could. He didn’t want to give Jim an excuse to decimate this temple, danger making the mortals hair prickle on the back of his neck.

“Of course,” Greg said softly, “I will show you to the baths and I am sure we can arrange for food and rest.”

While the assembled Gods watched Jim with narrowed eyes, John gave a little bow to Sebastian and Jim as they followed Greg to the baths, deciding to remain polite and reserved for now. Mycroft had the same look on his face as Sherlock, remaining quiet. Irene just retreated to her chambers with Kate, watching Jim and Sebastian from behind her gauzy drapes.

“Food and a bed will be waiting for you when you have finished.” Greg said gently.

Giving a little smile and a nod of his head, he left the travellers to their own devices, giving Mycroft the chance to let out the breath he’d been holding. Holding Greg close, Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Jim’s back.

“Idiot…” he muttered, desperate to keep Greg safe.

“It is alright, I am fine.” Greg said, wrapping his arms round his God.

“I do not want you to go anywhere near them on your own.”

Nodding, Greg rubbed his hands up Mycroft’s back to sooth him a little, the God holding his mortal lover even closer, feeling rather on edge now the danger was here residing with them.

John was holding Sherlock’s hand tightly and managed to stay stoic even through the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling uncomfortably. Kissing his cheek gently, Sherlock squeezed at John’s hand in reassurance.

“It is alright, John. No harm will come to you, I swear it.” Sherlock whispered.

“I am not worried for myself.” John replied.

John was feeling incredibly overprotective of his Demigod lover, but he couldn’t help it. Everyone was on tenterhooks with Jim and Sebastian in the temple. Sherlock just smiled, soft and brilliant at John.

“I promise then, that no harm will come to me, either.” Sherlock chuckled.

“Damn right.” John replied.

His hand fell on the hilt of the knife he used to collect herbs for his work. It was a dull blade, but he could still kill someone with it. Especially if they threatened the life of his lover. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock kissed John to distract him, soft and sweet.

“Come along and eat something, love. You have not eaten all day.” Sherlock said softly.

“Very well.” John sighed.

Walking along with Sherlock, John’s eyes were darting everywhere as he was drawn away from the main temple, constantly on the alert. Sherlock just continued to lead his nervous partner outside, laying out a small spread of food for them to share as the sun went down.


	20. Chapter 20

The meal was nice and in the last of the sunlight, John felt rather content, but as the sun slipped below the horizon, John gave a shiver. The tension returned to him and he felt even more jumpy now that his guiding God had returned to the Mount. He didn’t eat much after that, just picking a little. Sherlock frowned with worry and kissed John’s cheek.

“Eat love, please. For me. You have been so ill and you must keep up your strength.” the Demigod sighed.

“I am not that hungry.” John replied.

Dipping his fingers into the cup of water before him, John drew swirled patterns on the dry stonework, trying to keep his mind occupied. He was quiet and then the roll of his stomach betrayed his hunger.

“Please, love. For me.” Sherlock said, pushing food towards John.

“What?” John asked, blinking in confusion having not heard Sherlock.

Picking up a bunch of grapes, Sherlock plucked one succulent red grape off the bunch, holding it up to John’s mouth. 

“Eat.” Sherlock said firmly.

Smiling a little bit and took the grape in his teeth, chewing it for what seemed like an age before swallowing it.

“Eat.” Sherlock said again, holding up another grape.

Blinking a little bit, John shook his head with a sigh and rested his head gently on Sherlock’s shoulder, his eyes closing and his arms snaking round Sherlock’s slender waist with a little frown on his face.

“Sorry… I am sorry, Sherlock. My mind is elsewhere.” John sighed.

“Share your thoughts with me, love.” Sherlock whispered, kissing the top of John’s head.

“Something my Lord Apollo said.” John replied, shaking his head.

John lifted his hand and rubbed his hand up and down Sherlock’s arm with soft fingers, a light frown on his face. Sherlock snuggled closer to John, kissing his golden hair gently, breathing in his delicate scent.

“Can you tell me?” Sherlock asked, tilting his head.

“Of course I can. He called Jim a liar. He called him false and said that we should not trust me.” John whispered, swallowing thickly.

“Then we must be on our guard.”

“The things he said though. Look at Dionysus, I mean… Jim. I do not think that I can believe what he said. Apollo said that Jim is not doing this for love, that he will lie to divide us and make the Gods fall.” John frowned, looking conflicted and confused.

“Then we must stay true to what we are fighting for. True to love and to each other.”

“That is what Jim fights for. You can see it in his eyes.”

John sighed and rested his head on Sherlock’s chest, still picking at the food and eating tiny amounts to stop Sherlock from worrying about him any more than he already was. But he hardly enjoyed food at all any more, it was just necessary for him to eat to survive.

“Then what is the problem,” Sherlock asked, pouring John wine, “If he fights for the same things, then why will he betray us?”

“I do not know. I am confused by Apollo’s words.” John replied, sipping the wine.

“We must follow our hearts, my love.”

“My heart is telling me that something has been kept from me, that I have been lied to. But I do not know why.”

“John, my John…”

Sherlock held John close and stroked his hair gently, frowning gently to himself. This situation was so unfair to John, the Gods were asking far to much of his loved one. John looked up at Sherlock and smiled gently at him, looking so pale and worn from his heavy burden. Sherlock kissed John, deep and soft, trying hard to give the mortal some of his strength and power, remembering his Mother’s words that his love would enable John to do what he needed to.

John sat up and smiled a little as their kiss broke, turning to eat a little more, feeling a little better. It made Sherlock sighed with relief to see John eating, watching him with eyes that glistened with his intense love and adoration for the other man.

Stroking at Sherlock’s curls, John stretched a little before lying down on the stonework still warm from its day in the sun, looking up at Sherlock and seeking solace. Stroking at John’s hair, Sherlock pulled his head into his lap properly, beginning to sing, soft and sweet, without words. It was just emotion, flowing in a melodious, sweet sound that soothed John’s heart and let the mortal drift into an easy sleep.

Rising, Sherlock lifted John into his arms and took him to their chamber, covering him with Athena’s red cloak. It had been a terribly exhausting day for them both and Sherlock was happy to curl up with his lover on the soft cushions.

Jim was floating in the warm water of the baths, sighing happily and moaning a little at the tension leaving his shoulders. Sebastian was likewise relaxing in the warm water with his eyes closed.

“This is nice. Bathing, resting, food and people scared that I will slit their throats if they sleep.” Jim chuckled.

“Now, kitten, you should play nice.” Sebastian smiled.

Jim swam close and licked up Sebastian’s chest, biting his collarbone gently, running his hands over Sebastian’s wet skin, making Sebastian hum a little and tilt his head back.

“I am a God,” Jim whispered, “I will play how I please.”

“Oh, will you now?” Sebastian said, running his arms round his God.

Jim gave a little giggle and looked up into Sebastian’s gorgeous duel toned eyes, kissing him gently. Sebastian kissed him back, turning Jim round so that he could press him against the chilled side of the bath with a little tiger like grin on his face.

“Behave yourself, baby.” Sebastian warned.

“I am,” Jim sighed, rolling his eyes, “I have not laid waste to this temple, have I?”

“Jim… this could be that we have been wanting. What we have been working for.”

“I am going to give them their chance. After that, if they are not compatible with my wishes, I will dispose of them.”

Jim pulled away from Sebastian and dove under the water where the world became silent and he could relax, floating perfectly between the mosaic floor beneath him and the surface of the water above, his arms round his legs and his eyes closed. Rolling his eyes, Sebastian just kicked back and floated on his back, stretching out as he enjoyed the heated water.

Irene was watching the God of Chaos and his consort from the shadows, one arm lazily around Kate’s hips, a little smile on her face as she looked at Sebastian with approval on her face. He was very handsome indeed. All tanned skin and rippling muscle, but there was that barbarianism to him that just gave him such an air of danger.

“Pretty little thing, is he not.” she whispered into Kate’s ear.

“Yes, my Lady.” Kate whispered.

Her hips canted towards Irene’s, looking over at the man in the pool and tracing a hand up the Goddess’ back. Smiling, Irene kissed Kate deeply, pulling her right up against her body with a little sighing breath.

Jim broke through the water, back into the land of noise and chaos from the depths of peace below, blinking a little. He felt a prickle on his neck and his eyes darkened to jet black, spines erupting from his pale flesh along his spine defensively.

“Someone is watching us.” Jim growled, his voice deadly.

“Easy there, kitten. Do not get uppity.” Sebastian whispered.

Opening his eyes, Sebastian flicked them over to see the two women kissing, his eyes skating over them and a little sigh leaving his lips. Blinking, he looked away and took a calming breath as he felt Aphrodite’s effects wash over him.

Irene looked right into the depths of Jim’s black eyes and grinned at him, running off with a giggle, hand in hand with Kate back to their chamber. Jim was hissing and snarling, spitting like an angry cat as he watched the retreating backs of the two women. How dare he be spied on by her of all people!

“Hey, hey,” Sebastian cooed, pulling Jim close again, “No big, alright? It is alright, love, I promise.”

Smiling and nodding, Jim let the spines disappear back into his soft white skin and stroked Sebastian’s damp blonde hair to ground himself again, the black slowly sleeping to his eyes until they were their usual deep brown.

“I love you, darling.” Jim whispered, kissing Sebastian gently.

“I love you too.” Sebastian hummed.

Jim gave a toothy grin and held the back of Sebastian’s head, kissing him again before he got out of the bath and rolled his neck sinuously like a great snake. Sebastian, as ever, was quick to follow on the heels of his God, standing beside him as Jim looked through the great marble arches that overlooked the city. Jim stood quietly drying himself, chewing his lip for a moment as he lost himself in thought.

“What is it, love?” Sebastian asked, wrapping his arms round the smaller man from behind and kissing the top of his head.

“I just feel… exposed here.” Jim whispered, his voice small.

“I am here with you. It is alright.” Sebastian assured him.

“I just feel they are all against me.”

“Not everyone is out to get you, love. I promise.”

“It just feels as if the whole world is trying to pull me ever which way. You are the only thing grounding me and I cannot lose you.”

“You will not,” Sebastian said firmly, stroking Jim’s hair, “I swear it. I will fight my way through the Underworld, past Hades himself to be back with you, if I must.”

Jim gave a sad little smile and leg his head fall forward, his shoulders sagging. A bright silver tear ran down his cheek, dripping onto the stonework at his feet where it gleamed in the light of the torches.

“I am tired of fighting.” the God admitted.

“It is alright, love. It is going to be alright. I swear it.” Sebastian whispered.

It broke his heart to see Jim crying and he pulled his lover closer. Jim nodded and turned his head to see Mycroft now watching him from the shadows. Neither God said a word, but Mycroft let his face become softer, kinder and bowed his head a little. Sebastian looked over at Mycroft too and had to wonder what had brought him to them.

Mycroft had been drawn to the God and his consort by the need to ask Jim why he was doing all of this, what had possessed him to do this whole thing and risk the sanctity of the Mount itself. But then he’d seen his answer as clear as day when he looked upon Jim and Sebastian stood together. Love. He was doing it for love.

“I am sorry to have disturbed you.” Mycroft said softly.

“Quite alright.” Sebastian replied, giving a little nod.

“Jim, we will assemble at dawn to hear your side of this. Rest well.”

Bowing his head a little, Mycroft departed to go back to his own love, to look at him with the same eyes that Jim had for Sebastian.

“We should rest, love. It has been a long day.” Sebastian said softly, nosing Jim’s neck.

“Gods do not sleep,” Jim breathed softly, “But… I feel I need to slumber.”

“Come to bed with me then, lover.”

The weariness of the God was clear to see. He’d pushed himself too hard and now he was paying for it. Taking Sebastian’s hand gently, they took to the chamber set aside for them, full of light and warmth. It was so different to the chill and darkness of the Temple of Hades, a pleasant change for sure.

Lying down with a contented sigh, Sebastian pulled Jim on top of him among the cushions and kissed beneath his jaw. Smiling, Jim tilted his head back and his lips parted in a contented sigh. Eyes slipping shut, he let out a soft breath and his head fell forward, sleep descending on both of them.


	21. Chapter 21

Morning was cold and bitter, as if winter had begun to turn, an unusual thing to happen at this time of year. The imbalance of nature was so strong, even the seasons were confused by the shift in power among the Gods.

The chill in the air even permeated through into the temple and its chambers, waking Sherlock to shiver lightly in John’s arms. Sherlock was nuzzling against him for the warmth the man naturally kicked out, more glad than ever for it.

“John…” Sherlock whispered sleepily, sighing a little.

John gave a hum at the call of Sherlock’s voice, pressing close to the Demigod to keep him as warm as he could. Nuzzling his nose into John’s neck, Sherlock kissed it softly and sleepily. Yawning, the movement made John open his eyes and look at Sherlock, stroking his curls.

“My darling,” John whispered, making to get up and recoiling at the cold, “Oh, by the Gods! It is so cold.”

“Indeed it is,” Sherlock replied, tucking the cloak tighter round them, “Not an auspicious start to our day.”

“Not at all…”

“… I do love you so very much, my darling.”

“And I love you. I always will. Forever.”

Sherlock gave John a soft and warm smile, drawing close to John and pulling him into a firm kiss, the love between them doing enough to heat their chilled skin. John really didn’t want to move at all, but there were so many things that needed to be done today, they couldn’t hide here from the cold all day.

“We should wake the others.” John whispered with a sigh.

“Mmm… in a moment… let me have my moment with you…” Sherlock whispered.

Looking down at Sherlock, John smiled as their bare chests pressed together, their pendants clinking against each other a little. Rolling onto Sherlock, John looked down at his lover and lent down to kiss him softly, Sherlock sighing against John’s soft lips as he traced his fingers up the mans spine. John’s hands knotted themselves into Sherlock’s curls gently, holding him in place. The sensation of fingers in his hair made Sherlock give a soft half-moan, his eyes fluttering a little.

“I love you so much.” John whispered.

“Oh, my beautiful John… there are no words to describe my love for you, my shining sun.”

“Much can be said about you, love. I would not even be here if it were not for you.”

John brushed his fingers over Sherlock’s cheek and the Demigod pushed up, desperate for another kiss. John was careful, kissing for a moment before moving to lie back beside Sherlock. He knew that their sexual tension was hitting a peak and that combined, it was getting very hard to ignore. The balance of the scales could easily be tipped by this point and they would have to be very, very careful.

“I suppose… we ought to get up then…” Sherlock sighed, pouting.

“We should. I should light a fire and we should meet in one of the side chambers where we can be warm.”

Getting up, John hummed and groaned as his aching limbs complained at having to rise, his head throbbing a little at the base of his skull. Sherlock stretched and sat up, the cloak still clutched to his chest as he looked round.

“It appears my brother and his consort have already risen and prepared breakfast.” he said, pointing to a side chamber, warm with light and the sound of fire.

“His consort? Please, Sherlock… call him Greg. All this talk of consorts and Gods is making my head ache.” John sighed, rubbing his temples with his forefingers.

“Sorry… sorry, love.”

“It is alright. Sorry, I did not mean to snap.”

Winding their fingers together Sherlock just shook his head and kissed him, getting up and going off to the warmth of the side chamber with a little flame of his own in his chest to keep him warm.

Jim was already seated in the chamber, picking at the food and only really choosing to eat the figs and grapes, while Sebastian went for the meat and heavy wine, eating noisily. Jim rose to greet John and Sherlock, frowning a little as he looked at John. The mortal looked pale and tired, his head obviously hurting him, Jim found this very interesting.

“Sit, rest… you do not look well.” Jim said softly.

He was not concerned for John at all, more interested in his condition. He was watching John closely as he sat himself back down, making Sherlock raise a brow slightly as he sat beside his love. Pulling fruit close for John to reach easily and pouring himself wine, Sherlock flicked his pale eyes back up to Jim.

“I trust you had a fair rest, then?” he asked the God.

“As fair as I can with the chill in the air,” Jim replied, all of his attention now on Sherlock, “How have you been, Sherlock? I have not seen you since… well, since you got all grown up and flew the nest.”

There was a lot of history between them both, Jim having been left in Mycroft’s care to be brought up after Zeus had rescued Jim from the clutches of a vengeful Hera. Sherlock and Jim had grown up together, the two of them reasonably close before Sherlock turned away from the Gods to lead his own life in the mortal realm.

“Many things have happened since we last saw each other, both good and ill. But more recently…” Sherlock looked at John and would their fingers together, “Things have been quite a bit better.”

Jim looked at Sherlock and John’s hands, his own finding Sebastian’s to give it a little squeeze. His face began to soften and he sighed a little, moving closer to talk in a low voice with Sherlock.

“There is something you need to know… about the blessed. Something hidden from us.” he said in a whisper.

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed, eyebrows knitting, “And what is that?”

“The blessed are not truly so,” Jim replied, his face pained, “Their lives are cut short by the blessings we give. You can see that is happening to John. That is the ‘blessing’, cursing him to an early grave.”

John’s eyes widened as Jim looked over to him, his mouth falling open in shock. Sherlock frowned deeply and pulled John close to him, chest heaving as he tried to understand what he’d just been told. He didn’t want to believe it, he couldn’t. His John wasn’t going to die young! They would live a happy long life together! But that idea was beginning to fade away now.

“That is not fair…” he whispered, breath catching.

“I know.” Jim said sadly.

Jim looked away and kissed Sebastian’s temple, stroking at his blonde hair with shaking fingers. John watched, swallowing thickly as he shook his head. Was that what Apollo had talked about? Was that the lie?

“It does not matter. We are propositioning for our loved ones to be allowed on the Mount.” Sherlock said, frowning.

“And if John should pass in the meantime?” Jim said.

Concern was etched on his face for Sherlock, a man that he saw as a brother. Sherlock went very pale and shook his head, his eyes becoming wide, almost childlike as he looked from John to Jim.

“No… no, he will not… he cannot… we mean to do it as soon as possible. We would have already done so if the path to the Mount was open.” Sherlock said desperately.

“If I were to die, then I would be proud to die for this cause.” John said loudly, lifting his chin.

“No! No, no, John. I cannot… I cannot lose you…”

“Then we must be swift. Is there a chance of a dialogue with Zeus?” John asked, looking at Jim for answers.

It was Mycroft who would have the answer, breezing in with the rest of the inhabitants of the temple to seat themselves in a circle to talk.

“Yes, now there are enough of us, we can part your body and spirit and send you to converse with Zeus, to mediate between earth and the Mount.” Mycroft informed John.

“No,” Sherlock rebuffed, shaking his head, “No, absolutely not. I am not sending John alone. I thought we were all going to go to plead our case to Zeus, not John alone.”

“The gates are not open, he has to go alone. We have only the power to send one and it will leave us all weak,” Mycroft replied sharply, turning from Sherlock to look at Jim. “But first… we need some worshippers. Let some of them go, Jim.”

Jim looked into Mycroft’s steel grey eyes and gave a petulant little huff of breath before giving a reluctant nod, a pout on his pretty face.

“Very well, but none shall visit this temple.” he sighed.

Sherlock was panting, panic rippling through him at the plan that could rip John from him, fear in his opal like eyes as they flicked from Jim and Mycroft back to John, who seemed completely undisturbed by this terrible notion.

“Mycroft, no… no, we cannot send John alone…” Sherlock choked out, “Please, please.”

John held his hand up for Mycroft to remain silent and turned Sherlock to face him, kissing him gently. Looking into his eyes, it felt as if the world fell away and it was just them in the world, lost in each others eyes. Leaning forward, John rested his forehead on Sherlock’s, stroking the curls at the back of the Demigods neck.

“I must, Sherlock. It is my job to.” John said simply.

“John… my John… please…” Sherlock begged, clinging to John as hot tears stung his eyes.

“I am not leaving you. I will come back to you, love.” 

John pulled back and looked into Sherlock’s eyes, making him a silent promise just to do that, sealing it with a tender kiss. Sherlock couldn’t bare this, clinging to John and holding him close, tears dampening John’s shoulder.

Jim looked away and stood, closing his eyes to feel the connections to all of his worshippers blazing in his mind like hot threads of liquid gold. With a great surge of will, he severed his connections to all but the ones who had sworn themselves to his service, staggering a bit as he felt himself weaken. While he felt weak, Mycroft and Irene gasped as they felt strength they had lost return to them, seeming to glow with a faint golden aura now.

John looked up at Mycroft once the God of Travel had composed himself, seeing the aura of power around him and giving a little smile.

“I will talk to him.” he said bravely, pulling away from Sherlock.

Retreating to the waiting arms of Mycroft, Sherlock buried his head in Mycroft’s robes, knowing John had to leave, had to go, but hating it with all of his being. He knew that he was acting childish, but he really didn’t want to share John with anyone, least of all another God.


	22. Chapter 22

John stood alone now, proud and noble, head lifted as he took the responsibly to make this happen, to plead their case. Even Jim found that he had to admire the mortal man and his strength of will.

A bed was made for John in the centre of the temple where the sun would reach it at the height of the day. John made sure that he spent all of his remaining time with Sherlock, soothing him and consoling him, making the promise to come back to his side over and over again. But it was too soon that he had to lie down on the soft red cushions and face his greatest test.

Sherlock hated this. He hated the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, the sweating of his palms and the tremble of his fingers. It felt like his very heart was being ripped from his body and he clung tightly to John as long as possible before he finally just had to let John go and step back.

Sitting up for a moment, John reached out for Sherlock, his amber pendant hanging from his hand. Pressing it into Sherlock’s, he closed the Demigods long fingers round it and kissed them. 

“In case.” he whispered.

Mycroft came forward to cover Sherlock and John’s hands with his own, the great God looking into his brothers teary eyes for a long moment, silently trying to reassure him that everything was going to be alright.

“Ground him.” Mycroft said softly.

“My John… my John, I love you. John… I love you…” Sherlock replied, holding John’s hand tight.

 

The four Gods made a circle around John and Sherlock, each of them taking hands, a whisper leaving them as they closed their eyes, chanting in a low voices in a language older than the mortal world itself.

“I love you too, my darling Sherlock.” John whispered.

John kissed Sherlock gently and his eyes closed, falling back limp to the cushions, his breathing slight. Putting his head down on John’s chest, Sherlock clung to his lover, tears running down his cheeks.

John was still for a long time, then he gasped and jerked before falling still again, his body rigid as his eyes flicked open. They were no longer sky blue but a milky white, clouded and dulled as his lips opened to speak.

“You send this mortal to converse with me. This weak being. Tell me why you pester me when one among your number seeks to overthrow me?” boomed John’s voice, obviously being manipulated by Zeus himself.

Sherlock flushed a bright red and his eyes went wide, looking over at Mycroft as the voice of Zeus came from his lover. This was not what he had been expecting at all! Nobody had warned him that John would be used as a puppet by the great God. If he had known, then he would have protested even more fiercely, perhaps even had taken him away from the dangerous task.

“My father… hear our pleas!” Jim called, screwing his eyes up and shivering.

A deep growl of discontent and barely contained rage came from John, like a growl of a lion. It made Jim shiver again in fear and even draw back from the circle a little, his head bowed in shame.

“You are no son of mine, Dionysus! You are an enemy of Olympus!”

Jim’s eyes snapped open at his fathers words, a look of anger on his pale face, spines erupting down his arms and spine as he hissed low, growling with every breath out. Sebastian moved a little closer to him, hushing him gently.

“If you will not listen to us, Lord Zeus, listen to the man who loves the mortal you are using.” Mycroft called out, his voice strong.

Sherlock blinked at his sudden chance to reason with the almighty Zeus, to fight for his John, for their future together. Swallowing thickly, it took a moment for him to find his voice, even though when he did speak it was not nearly as loud as Mycroft’s had been.

“Father… my great Father… what can one say to defend his heart? What can I say to convince you of the purity of my love for John? And likewise, the purity of his love for me… the love that each of us has found with a mortal, here among men…” Sherlock took a breath and felt bolder, voice stronger now, “We fight for that love, for our cherished, beloved ones to be able to stand by our side, to walk the gardens of the Mount with us forever. It only strengthens us, strengthens men when such love is found, so beautiful and pure. Your son, Dionysus… his heart aches for the love of his own… can you not see it?”

“I can see it,” Zeus replied after a moment, “But I cannot allow it. What if these loves were to turn away from their consorts? They could wreak havoc in the human world, the powers of Gods on their side. Mortals are fickle. They lie and they crave power.”

An ugly sneer of contempt crossed John’s face, twisting it into a grimace and Sherlock shook his head fiercely, tears streaming down his face again, anger boiling in his heart as he tightened his hand around John’s.

“No, great Father…” Sherlock replied, his lip curling, “You have so long been absent from the world of men… is your heart so hardened? It is the lack of true, pure love that makes men’s hearts weak.”

“Let them talk… let the humans come forward and speak. Let them weave their lies so I might read through them.” John spat, wrinkling his nose.

Surprisingly, it was Kate who stepped forward first, nervously tucking her copper hair behind her ear. She looked at Irene for solace and the Goddess of Love gave her a loving smile, nodding at her reassuringly. Kate smiled and turned her eyes to John, feeling brave and empowered.

“My Lord, I know that - of those gathered here - I have perhaps the least to say. But I fell I must speak anyway,” Kate said, her voice unfaltering, “I have devoted my life to the Gods, asked nothing in return. I have forsaken family and friends, the pleasures of the flesh in service to my Goddess. And now… now she returns my love and devotion. I only know that I will continue throughout my life, whether long or short, to serve her and the other Gods of Olympus.”

“Your words are as pure as your heart, but Aphrodite is as fickle as a human. So many loves… which ones do I commit to,” Zeus sighed, snarling a little bit, “The one with the tiger heart. The barbarian. I wish to speak with him.”

“Yes, my lord,” Sebastian grunted, slouching forward with an uneasy clench in his stomach, “I am here.”

“You are devious and of bad blood. You did not follow the Gods until my son came along. How can you say you will stay by his side when you are so faithless?”

“One does not need faith to find love. I would love Jim were he mortal, God or demon. I would love him until the mountains crumbled, until the seas boiled away into salt and far beyond. Until the stars blinked their existence from the sky and the world was ended. I would still love him.”

Sebastian fell silent and looked back over his shoulder to Jim, who was looking at Sebastian with wide eyes. He’d never heard anything spoken so beautifully from his barbarian lover. It was poetry and Jim found himself falling in love with his complicated and sweet hearted Sebastian all over again. Stepping over to Jim, Sebastian entwined his hand with Jim’s, a tear on his tanned cheek.

“Where is the warrior,” asked Zeus, his voice low now, “He is the last I wish to speak with this day. I have not the time for you to be keeping me away from my work.”

“I am here, Mighty Zeus.” Greg called, his face a little pale.

Greg hurried forward, chewing on his lip and trying so hard to concentrate, worrying that he would mess all of this up for all of them. John’s white eyes turned to him and seemed to look through him, unblinking as he gazed at his soul.

“Your heart is hard to read, so knotted is it with scars of love. How can I be sure that you will not fall into despair and become as black hearted as the night?” Zeus asked.

“I have already felt the bitter sting of despair, of loss. My heart lay broken, my soul weary when he came to me… when he lifted the sorrows, the burdens from me…” Greg said in a whispery tone, eyes locked on Mycroft’s, “He made me new, made the world seem light and beautiful, opened my eyes to endless possibilities. So long as I have him by my side, I will fear nothing.”

Nodding, John’s body jerked as a breath was forced from him, the connection faltering now. John’s hand tightened around Sherlock’s, a move not made by Zeus, but by John himself, holding on to his lover as best he could, a spark of life within him still.

“This mortal is failing,” Zeus stated, almost sadly, “He is already fading. I will take into consideration what you have had to say.”

John became deathly still again, his breathing stopped as the milky white faded from his eyes to their brilliant blue again. But his breathing did not restart and his skin became a deathly white pale. It made Sherlock’s heart stop in his chest and panic ripped through him as he shook John a little, trying to wake him, to get him to stop being silly and come back to him right now this very minute.

“John? John… John… please, please, John… please… please… Oh, Gods, please do not let him die…” Sherlock begged, his voice weak.

It was too late though, John was already gone, the warmth leaving his body and the flush of life leaving his lips and cheeks. He’d been dead for a while, perhaps the entire time that Zeus had been talking through him. Sherlock could shake him as much as he liked, but John would not rise again.

Mycroft let out a breath of shock, coming forward to close John’s eyes with a sweep of his hand, pulling Sherlock into his arms and holding him close in his grief. Molly and Irene let out little sorrowful gasps and Jim looked on with tears in his eyes.

Sherlock was inconsolable and pushed away from his brother forcefully, trying desperately to get back to John’s lifeless form. A grief-stricken scream left Sherlock’s lips, blinded by the tears that streamed down his face, fighting with all his will against his brother. He held John’s pendant so tight in his hand that crimson dripped to the floor, staining the white marble with his blood.

“John! John!” 

If he screamed loud enough, maybe John would come back to him, just like he’d promised and his eyes would open, those gorgeous blue eyes flecked with gleaming gold would open once more. John would get up and they would kiss, holding each other tight in a warm embrace and everything would be alright again. Everything would be perfect.

Irene couldn’t take it, rising from the circle to go to Kate, holding onto her gown like a child and weeping onto her shoulder. Jim stood and took a long length of his black robe, severing it to rest over John’s body, bowing deeply to him on last time. Molly stood alone, unable to cry, unable to feel or do anything really. It was Greg who went to her and embraced her, but she looked over his shoulder at the shape of John’s body under the off cut of robe, her eyes wide.

They all gasped as a great shaking made the earth tremble, a groan of protest and then silence. The gates of the Mount had reopened to all, the trapped Gods finally able to return home, not that the four here wanted to return quite yet. They had unfinished business here.

Greg had to hurry to Mycroft’s side to help restrain the distraught Demigod, catching Sherlock as he fell limp. His rough and ragged sobs of heartbreak echoed round the temple, so heartrending that they all found their cheeks wet with tears, even Sebastian. 

Jim was already making his promises to return to Sebastian’s side as soon as he could through his own tears, giving him instructions to bury John’s body in the temple grounds, somewhere that the sun would always shine on it.

“Do not leave me, please.” Sebastian whimpered.

“I love you, but I must. If only for a short time.” Jim said, stroking his hand through Sebastian’s hair.

“Why? Why must you?”

Jim didn’t get a chance to reply, their conversation cut short by another sorrow filled scream from Sherlock that made all the hairs stand up on the back of Jim’s neck. Mycroft pulled Sherlock back into his arms, the Demigod boneless as he just let out his grief. All eyes were on him again.

“Sherlock…” Mycroft said gently, silver tears running down his cheeks, “Sherlock, we must return to the Mount. Come with us… come with us…” 

Sherlock turned his eyes to his brother, but they were hollow, the life seemingly drained out of him by his sorrow. His sobs became soft and his tears were beginning to slow as rocked back and forth on the floor, kneeling dishevelled before his brother. His entire being seemed to fade, no colour in his cheeks, nor in his eyes. The spark of life and love had flickered out within him at John’s passing.

He had done what the Gods had asked of him, he had brought John to Athens and restored the balance between the Gods. He had earned a place on the Mount for himself, but it meant nothing, it was all meaningless now that his lover lay dead before him in his death shroud. 

Hollow, dead eyes slid up to look into Mycroft’s eyes properly, Sherlock’s face pale and terrifying in its mask of grief. It was drawn and grey, his beauty fading as he became a vile shadow of what he had once been.

“I forsake it.” Sherlock spat.


	23. Chapter 23

There was a great, loud rumble of thunder from the heavens at Sherlock’s words and he pushed himself up onto his feet, the amulet round his neck cracked and became as dull and broken as Sherlock was. All Gods turned to look at Sherlock with their eyes wide. 

There was a rustle of wings and everyone gasped as Athena appeared to land at the feet of her own statue. Her face was infinitely sad as she looked at how broken Sherlock had become and she held her hand out to her youngest, worry deeply etched on her face as she looked deep into his eyes, almost into his very soul. 

“Son…” Athena whispered, her voice soft.

Sherlock’s eyes lifted over to rest softly on the figure of his Mother, but there was no hope, no life, no hope left within them and Athena almost recoiled from him. He had been forsaken by mortal and God, there was no place for him in Olympus. Not now, not ever. His soul was broken, tainted with the pains that he had suffered, the losses he’d endured. For only a moment did he turn to his Mother, stopping to hang John’s amulet, bloodstained and broken, around his neck. 

In a second, Sherlock had shifted, the once beautiful silver stag was now a lifeless gray, his eyes black, soulless pits. Turning his back on his Mother and the assembled Gods, he fled the temple and was gone in a flash.

A great cry shook the temple, but it came from none of the Gods but from the Mount itself. The cry of a mortal man made God from the love and devotion of his partner. Heavy rain began to fall over the region and the skies became black once more as on the Mount, John cried bitterly for the love of his life that had turned his back on the Gods and Olympus, had turned his back on him.

Athena appeared at John side in seconds, hurrying to console her son’s lover, her soft arms circling John who clung to her, screaming and sobbing for Sherlock to come back to him. But Sherlock couldn’t heart the sound of John’s anguish, his back turned completely to Olympus. Sherlock felt only pain and grief, a wretched and broken thing as he fled Athens, heading for the solitude of the forest he had once called home.

Back in the temple, Greg clung to Mycroft and tightened his hands in his robes, tears streaming down his face as John’s anguish flowed through them all. Kate much the same as Greg, clinging to her Goddess and Sebastian had to close his eyes tight, John’s pain rippling through him so violently that he was forced to shift, whining as his wings rustled in severe agitation. 

“Mycroft… what is happening?” Greg asked, his eyes red and bloodshot.

“John mourns,” Mycroft said softly, his eyes turning to the sky, “What has Sherlock done…?”

Mycroft pulled Greg into his arms, screwing his eyes up as he felt the grief shoot through him. Their embrace was short lived however, Mycroft gasping as he felt Greg fall, a gasp as Irene caught Kate and a scream of bitter pain from Jim as Sebastian - now in mortal form - fell to the floor in a heap.

They were dead. All of them dead. But there was no sadness to be had, in fact Mycroft gave a little smile. They were on the Mount now, they had transcended to the higher plane and left their useless mortal shells behind them, waiting for their Gods and the eternity that they would now share together. The joy was short lived as another stab of pain from John shot through them all. 

John was in agony now as his love ran further from him, their bond stretching and snapping. He got to his feet shakily, pushing Athena away to stand on his own. With deep concentration, he descended to the world below to seek Sherlock, to bring him back to the world of light. 

The silver stag was streaking through the woods now, but the grief had twisted him, transformed him into a shell of himself. His eyes no longer saw the light, or the truth around him. He could not recognise John as he appeared along the path Sherlock was taking through the forest. Trying to reveal himself to Sherlock was difficult, his appearances brief and momentary before he was rebuffed by Sherlock’s pure anger. 

John kept up as best he could, thankful for when Sherlock finally stopped and collapsed to the ground, lost in his misery. It was still a struggle to get close to the Demigod even though he had stopped running, John trying hard to push through the anger that had manifested itself and get to Sherlock’s side.

“Sherlock… Sherlock, please… please hear me…” John said in a soft, broken tone.

Sherlock was a creature of pain, of the deepest despair. Everything he touched turned to ash, the blades of glass around him blown away to fill the air around him. Where he touched the water, it boiled away into nothing. He had left a tail of death and decay through the forest, the trees along his route blackened and leafless.

He couldn’t hear John, couldn’t see his love, his sorrow too great, his soul locked away too deeply within him, his heart to broken, shattered like glass into a million sharp pieces that dug painfully into his chest. John watched as Sherlock wept, the Demigods tears scorching the ground like acid. John sighed, closing his eyes and clapping his hands together. A circle of intense flame surrounded Sherlock, barring the Demigod from moving away from him any further.

“Sherlock…” John called, stepping into the circle.

John was hoping that the sight of the bright flames would ease his lovers heart. Fire, after all, was what John was good at. The distraught broken creature that was Sherlock, recoiled from the flames, from the light and heat. He gave a light, hissing groan as he curled up on himself, his lanky arms over his head as he cowered away from the flame, unable to escape from the circle.

Crouching down, John reached out and rested his soft healing hands to the top of Sherlock’s head, stroking his curls gently. The touch made a shiver flow through the distraught Demigod, feeling a strong power close by. 

“I love you.” John whispered softly.

Their tears fell to mingle with the heavy rain that still fell, but it did nothing to dampen the flames around them. Sherlock’s eyes lifted to John’s face, infinitely sad and broken, hardly seeing the being before him, but his long fingers reached out for John all the same as he tried to come back to himself.

“John?” Sherlock breathed, his voice small and broken.

“I told you I would not leave you.” John said softly.

John reached out and took the long fingers reaching out for him, even though physical contact with someone so broken by sorrow and lack of faith was burning agony to him. Pain didn’t matter, it was nothing when Sherlock so desperately needed him. 

Shuddering and shivering, Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed as he felt John’s pain flowing through him in a wave. A soft moan of discontent burst from his lips, but he clung to John, slowly coming back to the light, looking up at John’s face with widened eyes. For a moment, Sherlock couldn’t believe it, but then his hand pressed to John’s cheek and his eyebrows shot up.

“My John?” Sherlock whispered, voice lightening.

“My Sherlock… my darling love…” John sniffed.

Kneeling in the dirt, John looked into Sherlock’s eyes and leaned forward, their lips meeting tenderly. Sighing softly, Sherlock’s eyes flickered closed, the gray pallor slowly seeping from his skin to become its usual pale incandescence, cheeks flooding with a pale pink. The dead earth beneath them began to slowly curl with greenery and life to blossom again. 

“Oh, my John…” Sherlock said, his eyes brightening even more, “My beautiful John… I lost you. I could not find you… I was so alone…”

“I know… I know. I tried to hold on but my Lord Zeus scooped my soul from my body and refashioned it as he spoke through me, built me into a God.”

Stroking at Sherlock’s curls, John smiled and the rain stopped as his tears stemmed and the flames around them died down. Sherlock clung to the God - to his John - reformed and remade into something new and beautiful.

“John… I was so lost… I was so alone…” Sherlock whispered.

“You are not lost. You are not. I am here now. Sherlock, love… the gates are open for us. Come back to Olympus with me.” John whispered, his grip on the mortal world slipping.

“Yes, yes I want to go… I want to be with you.”

John smiled and reached out to hold the cracked moon pendant around Sherlock’s neck, settling it in the palm of his hand. Looking up at Sherlock, John let out a little breath, biting his lip with a hint of worry on his face.

“Do you still love me?” John whispered.

“Yes… Gods, yes,” Sherlock said desperately. “I will love you until the moon turns to dust and beyond.”

John smiled and kissed the pendant, the cracks in the quartz fading and it slowly began to fill with light once more to become whole again, just like his owner had. Gentle fingers took the amber pendent from Sherlock’s neck and John slipped it back round his own neck, kissing Sherlock gently.

“Close your eyes.” John whispered, taking Sherlock’s hands.


	24. Chapter 24

Sherlock got to his feet and clung to John’s hands, letting out a breath as he closed his eyes slowly, trusting John completely. John kissed Sherlock again, long and sweet and so touchingly tender. When they broke the kiss, there was song in the air, the sounds of feasting and the soft scent of flowers.

“Welcome home.” John said softly.

Gasping a little bit, Sherlock’s eyes opened to Olympus, to the gardens of his birth and the birth of his mother. Silver shining tears rose in Sherlock’s iridescent eyes and he put a hand over his mouth as he looked round. It was just as beautiful as he remembered, if not more so with John by his side.

“Oh, John… oh, my John!” Sherlock laughed, throwing his arms round John.

John held Sherlock tight and the Demigod surrendered himself to a tender and loving embrace, the long end of their journey finally at hand. But not their story. Their story would continue, forever. The realisation of that hit them both as they embraced, tears running down their faces as they could finally relax completely.

There was bright laughter as scantily clad nymphs made sweet music with their harps and flutes. Calling from the feasting became louder and a bread roll flew through the air to Strike Sherlock on the back of the head, thrown by a jubilant looking Jim. Snorting, Sherlock turned to look at him, his face effusive with love and joy as he beheld everyone he held dear gathered together in one place. A brilliant smile lightened Sherlock’s face, so bright that a rainbow appeared in the sky over Athens.

They were all there, Gods and their consorts, even Molly hand in hand with Endymion. The smile on her face was the most beautiful and brightest of them all as she rested her head against his shoulder, the man holding her tight as if he might never let her go. He was a very handsome man and Molly had eyes only for him, Endymion barely able to take his eyes off Molly for a second, leading to him upsetting quite a few goblets of wine. Not that anyone really cared about the mess he was making.

The once mortals were shining here, as bright and as beautiful as their Godly partners, laurel leaves resting on their heads as champions and blessed ones of the Gods. Kate’s hair gleamed in the sunlight, her curls perfectly formed and her skin pale and soft looking. She and Irene were doing a little more than feasting, but nobody really seemed to care, too wrapped up with their own lovers. Sebastian seemed to radiate strength, the scars from his days as a barbarian that had littered his body were now gone, one perfect tanned arm round Jim’s slender body.

John pulled Sherlock to join the feasting, the both of them overwhelmed by the love and affection that flowed as freely as the wine. Sherlock was dressed in white now, the robe slipping from his shoulder almost every time he moved. Smiling, John pressed a goblet into Sherlock’s hand with a joyous laugh. Sherlock didn’t hesitate to drink deep and hummed at the exquisite taste, much better than in the mortal world.

The food was wonderful, the sweetest and plumpest fruit laid out for them, honey soaked bread making their fingers sticky. Wine was flowing in a never ending stream, a heady red and a pure, crisp white to choose from. They ate and ate, but never found themselves too full, always room for a little more wine or a little more of the fine honey with their figs.

Sherlock pulled John into his arms and kissed him gently, his hands roaming over John’s skin freely, sighing happily as they began to concentrate more on each other than on the feasting.

“I have dreamt of this moment… it has never left the forefront of my mind.” Sherlock said with a purr.

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean…” John whispered, rising to his feet, “Come.” 

Taking Sherlock’s hand tightly in his own, John pulled Sherlock off into the peace and quiet of the gardens. Fruit hung heavy from the trees they passed, the branches groaning under their weight, their flowers releasing a gorgeous scent over the garden, mingling with the smell of roses. 

Sherlock paused in the heart of the protective soft greenery, among the heady smells and dappled light, drawing John into his arms. It felt more like home than ever here, reminding him of the day they had met under the leaves of his forest home.

“A little further.” John said, his grin widening.

Giggling a little bit, John shook his head and pulled Sherlock further into the trees to a vineyard, just like John’s family had once had. But this was all luscious green and there were flowers among the vines that were heavily laden with big round grapes in both red and green, just begging to be eaten.

In a small clearing in the centre of the vineyard, the red cloak of Athena lay for them, waiting for them. Sherlock spotted it and grinned too, his eyes only for John, enraptured with him, entranced by the way he glowed now with divine power, so soft and beautiful. John let him stare for just a moment before blushing brightly, leaning forward and kissing Sherlock tenderly. Dragging Sherlock down on top of him, John drank deep from the goblet that he’d brought with him, putting it aside to give Sherlock a wine soaked kiss.

John could keep himself back no longer and he let his hands roam over Sherlock’s body, pushing the fabric away from the Demigods body with a little groan of pleasure. Sherlock was quick to remove John’s tunic, sighing as their skin pressed together at long last. Their hands began to roam over each others skin, slow but insistent as they pressed themselves together, kissing lazily.

“So beautiful… so lovely… my perfect John…” Sherlock breathed, kissing John’s neck.

“I have longed for this moment… to lie you down in sweet smelling fields and make love to you.” John whispered, rolling to press Sherlock to the cloak.

“Yes… I have as well… oh, my love… kiss me.”

Pulling the other man down by the hair, Sherlock kissed him deeply and passionately as John’s hands slipped down his milky white thighs, gripping the toned flesh. The strains of sweet music was still about audible from here, but it sounded as if it was just for them as they rolled around.

“My darling… you know you are a fully fledged God now.” John grinned.

Slicking his fingers, John pressed one into Sherlock and wriggled it a little, making Sherlock moan loudly, cheeks beginning to flush a bright red. Oh, how he had longed for this, for John’s sweet words and loving touches.

“I… nnnnggg…” Sherlock’s train of thought was lost in a low moan.

“My darling God, my sweet God… my true God.” John whispered, fingers moving faster.

“John… John… no waiting, no more… I need you, please…”

“Yes, my love…” 

John’s movements were liquid as he pushed gently into Sherlock, breathing down his ear softly. The moan that left John was like the groan of the earth itself. Sherlock, likewise, keened and arched his back as they joined, arms tight around John as they came together. Nine months later in the world of men, there would be a great surge of new born babies, though no one would quite know or understand why.

John kissed Sherlock tenderly, the fingers of both hands knotting together as he made love to him, their soft breaths smelling of wine and cherry blossom, John’s moans becoming the cause of many poets and great writers inspiration in the world of the mortals below. Sherlock gave a little breathless, melodic sound as his body arched under John’s ministrations, lost in the perfect union of their bodies.

“I love you…” John whispered, face flushing as he moved his hips faster.

“Gods, yes… I love you too… to the very ends of everything, my John.” Sherlock groaned.

With a great groan that made the trees and vines around them shudder, fruit falling heavily to the ground, John came deep within Sherlock, the pair of them locked together as Sherlock joined him in the peak of ecstasy. The fruit on the ground would herald the most wonderful harvest in the mortal world that year, a blessing from the Gods.

Rolling to the side, John held his lover in his arms, kissing him tenderly and stroking at his perfect curls. The sunlight was bright, the sky above cloudless and it was warm enough just to lie naked together in the great garden.

“Your words shifted Zeus’ heart… your love did this.” John said, resting his hand on Sherlock’s chest.

“My… my words?” Sherlock asked, blinking softly.

“Yes, love… your words carried the most weight as a Demigod. You were speaking with the heart of a God and a human.”

“We will be together forever now, my John.”

“Yes, my love…”

John sat up and robed himself once more as a group of giggling nymphs came their way, dancing and singing happily as they approached. John beamed wide, his eyes shining bright with joy.

“Zeus granted me one more wish.” he said, turning to Sherlock.

“Oh?”

A little boy, golden haired and with the sweetest of little red flushed faces came running from the gaggle of nymphs before they could stop him. John scooped him up and spun him round with a happy laugh, making the little golden haired boy giggle loudly. Holding the boy tight to his chest, he looked down at Sherlock, his eyes glittering as the boy rested his head on John’s.

“This is my son,” John said, looking at his son with utmost love, “This is my dearest Eros.”

Sherlock got to his feet, shifting his robes back on and stroked the boys face gently with one large hand. He gave the youngling a bright smile, one that the little lad shot back, his eyes so like his fathers.

“Hello.” Sherlock said softly.

Eros slipped from his fathers arms and went to Sherlock, wrapping his arms tight around him for a moment, pulling on his robes so he could kiss Sherlock’s cheek. Turning, he waved to Sherlock and John before hurrying off to play with the nymphs again, who welcomed him back with their silvery voices, laughing as he ran after them in a joyous game of chase. John watched him go with pride and happiness burning in his eyes, hand slipping into Sherlock’s.

“Zeus said… he is going to be raised as a God…” John whispered, tears of joy in his eyes.

“I am happy for you.”

Seating himself again beside Sherlock, John took kissed the knuckles of Sherlock’s hand gently, looking into his lovers eyes. Lifting his hand, he stroked at the pale angles of Sherlock’s jaw, his thumb running over his cheekbone.

“This was all you, Sherlock. You gave me my faith back. You saved the world and most of all… you brought love and joy to the hearts of the Gods.”

“I did not do it alone…” Sherlock blushed, shaking his head.

“No… you did not. But you name is to be held above all ours. You are the one that brought change. My Sherlock… my God.”

John stroked Sherlock’s cheek and they kissed tenderly, their fingers winding together tightly. Their eternity was just beginning and they couldn’t be happier, hand in hand as they dropped down to the ground again, still kissing as they tangled their legs together to watch the sun set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming this far, the delay in the middle was a very very long one, but for those waiting for it here you are.
> 
> This is by far my best fanfic ever and I don't think I'll ever match it.


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